


The Four

by thosewhowearplaid



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, will add more along the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosewhowearplaid/pseuds/thosewhowearplaid
Summary: The rightful Queen ruled over the Seven Kingdoms, the dead defeated.Years have passed since the new reign of Westeros, and Sansa must decide who to love. Will it be one of them, or none of them at all?Queen Daenerys overcomes her fears and battles hers feelings; but the question of it lasting lingers as many things start to disrupt the peace at King's Landing.





	1. Wounds

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Sansa grew more restless and her frustration grew as each of her fingers tapped quickly against the wooden desk she sat at. A ruined piece of parchment sat in front of her as she stared out of the window and towards the garden of King’s Landing. She had tried, more than once, to finish the letter she had started hours previous; but every word she wrote failed. Sansa knew she had to write to someone and ask for someone’s help – though she wasn’t sure who to write to or what help she needed. Truthfully, Sansa wasn’t sure if she needed help at all.

She knew that if she needed someone of power and authority, she need only stroll a few doors to the left of hers and ask to speak to the Queen. Daenerys Targaryen ruled all the Seven Kingdoms and was her dearest friend. Sansa had complete respect and loyalty for the Queen and would do anything and everything she asked of her, though when they were alone, they laughed and gossiped as young teenagers would, and as Sansa once did back in Winterfell. But now, Sansa didn’t know if she could go to her friend, she knew she would overreact and certainly lock Sansa away from anymore prying eyes. She first thought of Arya, though she knew Arya wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to do and would probably suggest cutting her hair and running away. She then considered Jon, but she quickly realised he would have stormed all the way down to King’s Landing and demanded he took his sister, or cousin as they now knew, back home to Winterfell; Jon had become the Warden of the North in her name, as he refused any recognition with the crown.

Sansa pulled her tapping fingers away from the desk, she sighed and fell back into her chair. The sun was nearing the horizon and Sansa knew it was time to make her way to her daily dinner with the Queen and the other members of the council and their small court. Sansa ran her fingers through her hair as she thought once more – she thought of the longing stares and constant attention. Sansa had always known she was beautiful, but surely this was too much. Men constantly fighting for her attention and approval. She was sick of it, she never knew whose intentions were true and whose were simply those of wanting her power and role.

A sigh escaped her once more before she stood up and moved towards her wardrobe for a change of gown, she knew her handmaiden waited patiently for her at the front of her sleeping chambers and quickly made her way towards Sansa once she realised she was getting ready. Sansa and her handmaiden, Eva, picked out a few dresses before soon deciding on a long and delicate black gown. The gown didn’t cover her shoulders and hugged the curves of her breasts and the thinness of her waist tightly. She decided to wear her necklace with the silver chain and the charm of a wolf’s paw, which sat elegantly between the top of her breasts, which the v-line of her dress subtly allowed. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose braid, as a few curls were pulled out and rested against both sides of her face. Once finished, Sansa looked in the mirror at the front of her chamber, next to the balcony and where her desk sat, she approved of how she looked and thanked Eva. A loud knock on the door pulled her away from the mirror with a sigh, and looked towards Eva, who looked back helplessly. “Are you sure this is the right dress, my lady?” Eva asked, as she tugged on her own blonde hair nervously.

“It’s fine, Eva. You know just as I that nothing would happen,” Sansa smiled at Eva.

Eva had been Sansa’s handmaiden ever since she started her stay at King’s Landing, 3 years ago. They had become very close friends and Sansa was very happy to have watched Eva grow into the beautiful young woman she had become.

“I know. I just wish you weren’t so beautiful,” Eva returned the smile.

Sansa chuckled in reply and made her way to the door. Once they reached the door, Eva pulled it open and allowed the man in. The man bowed as he addressed Sansa, his eyes quickly and adoringly skimmed over the beautiful woman. “The Queen requests you, Little Bird,” he swallowed harshly, and his voice shook slightly as he took in Sansa’s appearance.

“Thank you, Sandor,” Sansa bowed her head slightly at the man, before turning to face Eva, “I would like a bath upon my return.” Eva nodded in approval and Sansa turned back to Sandor Clegane – the nickname he had been given upon the Baratheon’s reign had been discarded and quickly banned upon the new Queen’s arrival, with Sansa’s request. Sandor held out his hand for Sansa, which she took, and he led her out of her room and towards the Red Keep.

 

They walked in silence for a while, and neither found it uncomfortable or felt the need to push for a conversation. “You look beautiful, Little Bird,” his voice was calm and steady, as though he'd been planning to say it out loud for a while.

Sansa jumped quickly at the break of the silence, but smiled pleasantly at the man who walked beside her, “thank you. Will you be joining us this time?”

Alike many conversations they have had in the past, Sandor kept his eyes focused on the path ahead and hardly turned to face Sansa, as Sansa turned to face him as both spoke. “The Queen insists,” he replied as he continued to stare straight ahead as they walked. They both knew of his feelings for Sansa, it was only a suspicion at first; as his eyes and touches lingered for more than necessary. Though it was never proved until they day a letter had been pushed under the door of her chambers for Eva to pick up. He had clearly had a lot to drink, and though the words were hard to read in his inebriated handwriting, the message was certainly clear. Eva blushed at the words, whilst Sansa hid the letter away from anyone else. The following morning, Sandor quickly made his way to her chambers to try and retrieve the letter from Eva, which she claimed she had no idea what he was talking about. But with her pink cheeks and soft smile, Sandor knew Eva and Sansa knew of the contents of the letter and knew he had _“fallen deeply and hopelessly in love”_ with Sansa Stark.

“I’m glad, it’s getting quite boring without you,” Sansa replied softly and turned to face ahead as she walked.

Sandor fought back the twitching of his lips and they continued to walk in silence.

As they reached the room for where they were to eat, guards pushed open the doors and allowed them in. They both walked into the room and bowed to the Queen as she sat at the head of a table which seated 7. “Ah, here you both are!” Daenerys stood up and walked towards her friend.

Sansa opened her arms for the Queen and hugged her tightly, both smiling happily as they embraced. “I’m sorry for the delay, I was writing a letter and lost track of time,” Sansa spoke as they pulled back.

Daenerys smiled at her friend, “not at all. To anyone interesting?” Her dress was light pink, and long, not as tight as Sansa’s but just as graceful and endearing.

“Just a friend in Winterfell,” herself and the Queen linked arms as they made their way to the table. As every meal they shared, Sansa refused to look at the table before greeting the Queen. But as they walked towards the table, just that once, she had an urge to look at the table. She knew it was full – she was always the last one to make an appearance. But at that time, she could feel eyes burning into her.

“Oh?” Daenerys cocked an eyebrow and smiled teasingly at her friend.

“A _friend_ ,” Sansa smiled and shook her head. They finally reached the table, and the Queen took her place at the head, whilst she took the seat on her right. “My Lords,” she bowed her head at the rest of the table. As she looked back up and began to sit in her seat, she looked at the men around the table.  4 pairs of eyes bore into her own, their gaze’s locked onto her as she took every breath, refusing to look away. _Maybe Eva was right about the dress._

With shaky breaths and steady eyes, each man nodded and addressed her accordingly.

“A friend? I would like to hear about this friend who kept you away from us,” the Queen pushed teasingly. As she smiled at Sansa, her eyes quickly tore away from her friend’s and landed on the man who sat on her left, Ser Jorah Mormont. The only man in the room whose gaze locked onto the silver haired woman. Daenerys let out a quick and subtle sigh of relief at the gesture and turned back to Sansa.

Sansa felt her face redden slightly with the attention, before sighing in defeat. She looked around the table once more and her nerves erupted within her. Sandor, Baelish, Tyrion and Varys. 4 sets of eyes staring at her differently than the Queen or Jorah did. It was exhausting. Though, with the stares and undeniable gulps as they took her appearance in, it was never too exhausting to have a little fun. Sansa turned back to face the smiling Queen and leant forward, standing slightly, to whisper in her ear. She knew all eyes were on her, and knew where all eyes would land if she leant towards the Queen, especially with the low cut dress she was wearing. “Don’t make them jealous, Dany. You know how they get,” she whispered quietly into her friend’s ear.

Sansa was right. All eyes, with the exception of one dear Mormont, landed upon her breasts. Tyrion sat next to Mormont, and Baelish sat next to him – those two sat opposite and were granted a better view, whilst Varys sat next to Sansa and Sandor next to him, and as much as Varys would deny his glances, their views weren’t the best, but it was it was definitely something.

The red-haired woman sat back with a smile on her face, looking somewhat triumphant. She and the Queen both found it fun to watch the men squirm and wriggle under Sansa. Though, the Queen always seemed to enjoy it a bit too much. “It would be devastating if no chambers were available for him, you may have to share yours, Lady Stark,” she hushed her voice towards Sansa, but both women knew the rest of the table heard her. Sansa glared menacingly at her silver-haired friend and both held back their laughter, as they looked around the table discreetly, welcoming the twitches and anger seething men.

“Well,” Baelish broke first. All eyes quickly turned to face him, as the women cocked their eyebrows at him, “I must say, my lady, you look ravishing.” His smirk followed suit, and he held Sansa’s eyes locked onto his.

Sansa gulped and felt her pulse thump in her neck as she found it increasingly hard to tear her eyes away from his. Unlike the others, though they had other things to still her completely also, Petyr Baelish was the only man who made it impossible for her to rip her eyes away from his own. A victory smirk found its way upon his lips as she gulped once more, “thank you, Lord Baelish.”

“I must agree,” Daenerys broke in, she knew Sansa found it hard to pull her eyes away from Baelish and helped as often as she could, “wouldn’t you all say? I think you’ve outdone yourself tonight, Sansa.” Sansa ripped her eyes away from Baelish and smiled sheepishly at her friend.

“Thank you, your grace,” the two women smiled fondly at each other.

“I’m afraid I have to disagree, your grace,” Tyrion spoke, pulling all attention towards him, “for Sansa will forever be the most the beautiful and divine woman I have ever set my eyes upon. You look just as beautiful as I saw you this morning.” He held up his goblet of wine towards her, as in a toast to her beauty, and drank the wine.

Her cheeks reddened, and her smile grew wide at the man, “thank you, Lord Tyrion, that’s very kind of you.”

Baelish’s eyes hardened at the man beside him, knowing his compliment had been completely wacked out of the window. However, before anyone could say another word, several servants entered the room with plates of food and began serving the 7 around the table.

 

“How was it, my lady?” Eva asked as she poured a jug of water over Sansa’s hair.

Sansa sat in the tub, with her arms on both edges, holding her up. She leant back as Eva helped her wash her long, red hair. “Awful. It’s getting worse. I can’t say a word without the fear that someone will compliment or kiss me.”

Eva lathered the soap in her hands once more, before carefully rubbing it through her hair, “the price of beauty, I’m afraid.”

“The Queen knows, but she doesn’t know how bad it is now. Everywhere I go, at least one of them wants to take my hand somewhere new,” she sighed and closed her eyes.

“4 men. I know plenty of women who would die for that type of attention,” Eva’s hands massaged her scalp.

Sansa’s eyes opened as her eyes found Eva’s, “3 men. We’re not entirely sure about Varys.”

Eva looked at the woman with a cocked eyebrow and her lips pouted, “4 men.”

“Fine,” Sansa sighed exasperatedly and closed her eyes once more, “4 men.”

“You could make them jealous?” She had finished with the honey smelling soap and tilted Sansa’s head back a little, before pouring more water over her hair to remove the soap.

“We do that anyway,” Sansa spoke softly, enjoying the feel of her hair being washed.

“No, I mean, you could make them jealous with someone out of the four, and whoever sticks by you until the end, you’ll be able to see who’s most loyal and if they deserve a chance.”

Sansa opened her eyes and sat up, she turned to face her handmaiden and looked at her for a moment as she thought. “With who?”

“Theon Greyjoy.”

 

Weeks had passed since Sansa had received Theon’s response, he was due to arrive in a few days and Sansa’s nerves grew more volcanic inside of her. Her hands danced nervously in her lap as she sat in the Queen’s chamber. “Was this a bad idea?”

“Most certainly not,” the Queen replied as she sat opposite her friend, “Eva was right. It’ll show them that you’re not a possession they can own simply because they admire your beauty. If seeing you with another man makes them not want to try and win your affection, they never truly wanted it in the first place.”

Sansa looked at the table that separated them and poured more tea into her own and Daenerys’ cups, “I’ve not see him in years.”

“How long?” She asked, as she raised the cup of tea to her lips and took a small sip.

“Nearly 4 years.” Sansa took a deep breath and tried to still her nerves, she was more excited than worried. She hadn’t seen Theon since he saved her from the Bolton’s grasps, and she couldn’t wait to see him.

“I only hope that he doesn’t fall for you too,” Daenerys laughed.

Sansa looked at her friend and gulped, “Oh Gods, I hope not.” Both women laughed, and Sansa felt herself begin to calm, “what about you? Have you spoken to him?”

The Queen put down her cup back onto the saucer and sighed, “I’m too afraid.”

“You’re afraid?” Sansa was shocked. Queen Daenerys, House of Targaryen, _Mother of Dragons_ was afraid.

“What if he thinks I’m doing it to please him?” Her voice was quiet, yet it never wavered from the regal tone it forever held.

Sansa felt a wave of guilt for her friend and stood up from her chair, she walked to her friend and knelt at her knees, taking her hands into her own. She looked at the worried Queen and smiled softly, “you need to show him that it isn’t the case. He has loved you for so long, if anything, I’m worried he’ll never stop touching you.”

Daenerys laughed softly and smiled down at her friend, “thank you.”

“Of course,” she squeezed her friend’s hands before letting go and standing up.

As she stood, Daenerys winced at her friend’s appearance, “how could you wear such a thing that tight?” She stared at her friend’s _tiny_ waist and realised how tight the corset and red dress must have been, as well as the tightness around her breasts.

With a laugh, Sansa spoke, “I’ve grown up with it. I wouldn’t say I enjoy it, I’d much rather wear your dresses.”

As regal the Queen was, she refused to squeeze herself into a corset, and hardly ever worse a dress that looked remotely similar to Sansa’s. “I think I’d feel safer for you if you did, too,” she laughed in response.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, signalling it was time to make their appearances down in the Throne Room. Sansa held out her hand for the Queen, and smiled as she took it, before leading her out of the room. The walk to the Throne Room wasn’t a quick one as they both knew they couldn’t start anything without their Queen, yet it wasn’t a slow one either as they didn’t want to keep everyone waiting. It was that time of week again where people across Westeros would come and ask their Queen for help regarding their situation. It broke Daenerys’ heart every time she heard a wailing subject come and beg for help, it broke her heart even more when there was nothing that she could do to help – which happened very rarely but happened nonetheless.

Silence erupted into the room as the Queen walked in, followed by Sansa, and she took the throne. Sansa stood on the steps next to Varys and they silently greeted each other with a smile. With a silent nod from the Queen, it began.

 

The room had practically emptied, save for the woman who stood at the bottom of the steps asking for the Queen’s help, her children were starving, and they had no money since her husband died in the war for the throne years previous. Another man stood at the back of the hall, the last man to ask for the Queen’s help. After the hooded man, there would be no more for the week and the court would be able to rest easy for another week. Daenerys offered the mother a purse of gold and a basket of food to help their family; the mother sobbed and cried for her gratitude and kindness - leaving no one but the hooded man.

Each member of the council looked at each other as the hooded man slowly walked towards the steps. “I was looking for someone,” spoke the voice. Sansa gasped, the gasp was loud enough for the rest of the council to hear as they quickly turned their heads to face her. Sansa ignored their looks and took a step forward, before Varys quickly and softly grabbed her wrist. She looked at the man and smiled, and he let go with a wary look. She took another step, as the man spoke once more, “I’d assume more attention than this.” Sansa laughed at the voice.

All members of the council looked at Sansa as she smiled widely with tears in her eyes, “is it really you?” She croaked.

The man pulled down his hood and looked up to the red-haired woman, his smile matching her own. Sansa ran down the steps, ignoring how everyone else darted towards her, even the Queen stood from her throne. Sansa jumped from the bottom step towards the man, and he caught her in one quick embrace. He spun her around in a tight hug as he felt his own tears burn on his cheeks.

Once the Queen realised the man was no threat, she raised a hand and the guards and rest of the council fell back into their previous position, watching the young woman passionately hug the young man.

“I’ve missed you too, Sansa,” the man said as he put the woman back down onto the floor. He put her at arms-length and took a step back to fully view the woman, “look at you,” he whistled quietly, “you grew up. You’ve never been more beautiful,” he walked back towards Sansa and rested a hand on her cheek, she leaned into it with a smile.

Sansa stared at the man and took in his own appearance, “I’m glad you’re looking good, I wouldn’t know if I’d be able to stay with you if you looked the way you did as a child,” she teased with a wide smile.

He was about to reply when he remembered where he was, and quickly stood up straight as he cleared his throat. Sansa moved to his side and allowed him to address the Queen. He knelt and bowed his head, “Your grace.”

Sansa watched as the Queen smiled, before her eyes scanned the rest of the view. Eva was right. Damn, did those 4 look jealous.

“Theon Greyjoy, of Iron Island,” Sansa spoke and announced her friend as he stood up.

“May I ask a question, your grace, if it’s not out of turn that is?” Theon asked.

Daenerys smiled, “of course.”

Sansa looked at Theon with a crooked eyebrow, her heart thumping in her chest, she’d always know Theon had a trouble with Kings and Queens, and she prayed it wouldn’t offend her dear friend.

“I wanted to ask how my dearest Sansa had become a member of the Small Council?” He asked, tilting his head towards Sansa as he eyed her teasingly.

The Queen laughed, as Sansa eyed Theon, “Theon, I will make the Queen send you home.”

“Sansa is one of my dearest friends, I am very lucky to have her amongst my council. I am sure you’ve missed her very much,” the Queen smiled once more. She couldn’t help but be happy as Sansa’s face lit up with smiles.

Theon smiled and turned to Sansa, before wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her towards him, “I have missed her very much. I am sure you know the story, your grace. She saved me just as much as I saved her. I would be nothing if it weren’t for Sansa. I am very proud of the woman she has become, and I am eternally grateful for your kindness, not only towards her but for the whole of Westeros.” He bowed once more as he held Sansa against him, her hugging him back.

Daenerys smiled and nodded in reply, “Lady Sansa, bring Theon along to dinner this evening.”

“It’d be an honour, my Queen, thank you,” Theon spoke softly.

“I’m sure you both have a lot of catching up to do, I’ll see you both this evening.”

Sansa smiled at her friend on the throne, she then looked to the 4 men who looked at Theon with stabbing glares and anger seethed out of them all. Just before she bowed to the Queen and excused herself and Theon, he whispered into her ear, “why are they staring at me like that?”

However, no matter how well Theon _tried_ to whisper, it certainly wasn’t quiet enough. The 4 men stilled in their positions and Daenerys looked around to them as Sansa and Theon did also.

“Just bow and leave, Theon,” she muttered under her breath, _also_ not quiet enough to be missed.

Daenerys cocked her eyebrow and stifled her laugh, they all watched as Theon bowed and was then dragged out of the room by Sansa as she gracefully pulled his ear.

“I like him,” Daenerys said to the remaining members of the council.

“I don’t,” Sandor barked quietly.

Tyrion rolled his eyes and turned around to look at the man behind him, “well of course you don’t. He had his hands all over Lady Stark.”

“And that doesn’t piss you off? Everyone see’s the way you look at her,” he stared down to Tyrion, ignoring his language in front of the Queen.

“And what about the way _you_ look at her?” Tyrion threw back.

Sandor grumbled but was unable to speak as the Queen stood, facing the two men. “Guards, leave us.” She waited until all the Guards in the Throne Room had left them, leaving the 6 of them alone.

“Is everything okay, Khaleesi?” Jorah asked, stepping towards the Queen.

She turned to face Jorah and nodded softly, “I’m perfectly alright.” She then turned and faced Sandor and Tyrion, “you two, down there,” she pointed towards the bottom of the steps and watched as they went. Before addressing them, she turned to face the other two men, “and you two.” Baelish and Varys looked at each other before nodding and following the other two men, leaving only Jorah and Daenerys above them.

Daenerys moved towards her throne and sat down, looking down to the 4 men in front of her, her eyes then made their way up to the man who stood next to her with furrowed eyebrows and a confused look upon him. She could tell instantly that he wondered why he wasn’t down there with them. “You could join them if you wish, Ser Jorah. But that would also imply you’re in love with our Lady Stark.”

Jorah’s eyes widened, “I’m perfectly alright with standing up here, Khaleesi.”

She smiled at him before turning back to look at the 4 shocked men in front of her. All eager to say they weren’t in love with Sansa, all eager to defend themselves, yet also eager to throw the rest of the men out of the window. “It’s alright. Lady Stark is a beautiful, smart and kind woman. She deserves a hundred men to love her the way you all do; and you are all noble men, all worthy of one hundred men each. Sansa is one of my dearest friends, along with you all, and I would hate for any of you to get hurt. So please, only venture for her heart if you believe you can keep it. Sansa loves with all her heart, and we all know what she's been through, she deserves only happiness and love. As your Queen, I am telling you to only try and win her heart if you believe you can love her more than anyone else can, and for the rest of your life.”

The men in the room all stared at the beautiful woman on the throne, no one knew what to say or if they were able to breathe. Jorah turned away from the woman and caught the men’s eyes, he looked towards them and then towards the door, hinting at them to move. And they quickly did. They bowed and left the room, all without saying a word, allowing themselves to fall surrender under their own thoughts and emotions.

“Quite an empowering speech,” Jorah said quietly as his eyes remained one the place where the men previously stood. He couldn’t help the thumping of his heart, he couldn’t help but feel Daenerys wasn’t only talking about Sansa.

“Ser Jorah, how do you know you love someone?” She asked, she sounded scared and alone as her eyes were glued to the ceiling of the room.

The question startled Jorah, as he scanned her face for a brief moment before thinking. “Well, you can’t bare to part with them. You feel as if your heart will burst until you see them again, even if it’s for a small moment of time. Every moment with them is treasured, even the bad ones. You know you would forgive them for anything, no matter how badly you don’t want to. You wouldn’t change a thing about the person, for everything about them is perfect and sometimes you can’t believe that person would even give you a moment to speak to them. You know you’re in love with someone when you can picture them with you for the rest of your life, even if that means never being able to be with them the way you want, but even just looking at them once a day is better than not seeing them at all.” A tear escaped Daenerys’ left eye as she remained staring up at the ceiling, as he spoke. She closed her eyes and she could feel her whole body shake and erupt with nerves and fear. “Khaleesi,” he breathed quickly before falling to his knees beside her, “what’s wrong?”

She ripped her eyes away from the ceiling as she turned to face him, his eyes wide with fear and concern. “I’m in love, Ser Jorah.” Daenerys saw the pain etched on his face, in his face, before he quickly hid it away and locked it in the back of his mind. _You fool_ , she thought.

“You are?” Jorah asked, he calmed his voice and steadied his breathing. If Daenerys had missed the first look of pain, she would have believed he didn’t have feelings for her at all. But that hurt her most of all. In that moment, she realised how much she had hurt him. He had been so used to watching her love other men or ignore him, or even banish him, that he had grown used to the pain she caused and created a mask to use whenever he needed.

“Yes,” she croaked. She turned away and was just about to stand, when Jorah beat her and held his hand out for her. She looked at the hand, watching as it shook ever so slightly. A small smiled graced her lips, before the Queen took the hand and stood.

“May I ask who?” Jorah’s voice was calm, but a small waver of sadness followed it out. Daenerys stood before him and raised her hand to rest upon his cheek. In a moment of weakness, he leant into the touch and his eyes widened at the touch.

Daenerys hoped her gesture would have been enough to tell him, yet he continued to look at her with the question in his eyes. With her hand still against his cheek, she smiled sadly, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, his eyes searching hers as they traced over her face looking for more answers. “Daenerys?” He asked.

“You’ve stood by me the longest, you came back for me every time, you have always been by my side and I never want you to part again. I can’t imagine ruling without you. I need to see you at least once a day or there may have been no reason for that day at all, I need you by my side for the rest of my life, in whichever way you’ll have me, Ser Jorah.” Her eyes stilled on his, the blueness of his own shook and trembled as tears formed.

Shock. That’s what was happening. Jorah could feel his heart thump and beat against his chest, as if a lion had been locked behind his ribs and it was ready to break out. It was more than ready to break out, it had been more than ready to escape for years. Jorah slowly reached up to his face and took her hand from his cheek, he held it in both of his own as their eyes locked onto each other. Finally, after so long, the rush of emotions felt by both of them were understood, checked, reciprocated. He had waited for this for so long. He had waited for this moment since she stood inside that tent and proclaimed her love for another whilst eating a horse’s heart; _maybe not the most romantic way to fall in love with someone, but it was still the moment he held deep in his heart nevertheless._ “You love me?” He asked, he needed her to say it. He needed to hear the words for him to believe it.

“I do. I love you,” she whispered. She could feel own tears begin to form as she stared into the taller man’s eyes. She felt vulnerable and exposed, but it had hurt for so long, she needed to tell him.

Relief. She saw it in his eyes, along with happiness, fear, adoration, vulnerability and love. She could see it all.

He, carefully dropping her hand, raised both of his hands to either side of her face. Jorah stroked her face softly, she leant into the touch as she stared at him with her wide, purple eyes. His heart ached, it pulsed and thumped violently. He felt her lean up as he leant down, their noses touched, centimetres distanced their lips. Jorah could feel his body shake as he slowly continued, their lips touched.

_CRASH._

They jumped apart quickly, looking around the room to find where the noise had come from. Jorah quickly stood in front of his Queen, protecting her from any danger when they saw Sandor Clegane run into the room, his face red as he breathed heavily. “Quick, your grace,” he breathed out.

“What is it, what’s happened?” She asked, stepping in front of Jorah. Their hands touched for a brief second, though it was not the time to notice how his body shivered at the touch in desperation for more.

He tried to catch his breath, he tried to tell her. “Sansa,” he breathed out. It was all he could do.

Daenerys looked to Jorah, both eyes wide before they quickly ran towards Sandor and followed as he led them to Sansa.

 

Daenerys had never run so fast before. She could feel her pulse thumping, and yet she knew it wasn’t entirely due to her running. She couldn’t help but feel his lips on hers, even if it lasted for a second. Whilst she wanted more, she knew it was enough to last her a life time.

They quickly reached her chambers. She took in the scene and saw a crowd of people waiting outside, pacing angrily and fearfully. “What’s going on?” She demanded.

Eyes all shot to her as they begged for her to be quiet. “Please, we are not to be loud,” Varys begged. He stood in front of her and pleaded with his eyes that she remained calm and quiet.

She looked at him before looking around once more. Theon had slumped against the door and sat on the floor with his hands over his ears and tears flowing freely yet silently. Baelish paced, with a never-before-seen look on his face, he was angry, he was seething, blood thirsty. Tyrion had a bottle, not a goblet, of wine in his hands as he _prayed_? Guards were talking quietly, trying to come up with a plan.

“What’s happened?” She asked, a lot quieter this time.

Varys shook his head and turned to face Theon. “He called the guards and then they found us, he hasn’t said a word since.”

Daenerys knew what ever had happened, it was bad. Very bad. She nodded at Varys and walked towards Theon. Everyone watched silently, desperate for answers. “Theon?” She asked softly, kneeling in front of him. He didn’t acknowledge her. “Theon, I need you to listen to me.” His eyes met hers for an instant before dropping once more. “I want to help you, but I also want to help Sansa.” As soon as her name left Daenerys’ lips, he stared into her eyes.

“You have to get her out,” he cried quietly. His hands still covering his ears, under his hair.

“Out? Out of there?” She asked, gesturing towards the door.

He nodded tearfully, “you have to get her out. She’s all alone with her, and she’ll kill her if you don’t get her out.”

No one moved. No one breathed.

Theon slowly removed his hands from his ears and showed them to the Queen, his blood-soaked hands. “Theon. What did you do?” Her voice was calm, too calm. Jorah and other men quickly stood behind the Khaleesi, ensuring the blood covered man didn’t harm her.

He shook his head, “I tried to help her. Sansa was bleeding and I didn’t know what to do. I put my hands over it to stop the bleeding, but it wouldn’t stop. She kept coming. I hit her down and thought it would be okay to get help – as soon as I turned my back on her, she pushed me out of the room and locked the door. Please get her out, you must get Sansa out,” he cried, begging the Queen to help.

“Who?” Baelish asked over the Queen’s shoulder, “who’s in there with her?”

“I don’t know her name. But I recognise her. I don’t know how Sansa doesn’t, Sansa should remember her more than I do.” Theon began to cry again, his sobs shaking his whole body.

They knew they had to assess the situation before they went barging in. If they tried to break the door down, Sansa could be dead within moments, along with the killer.

“How do you know her, Theon?” Daenerys asked.

“She was there in Winterfell. She helped Ramsay. She tied Sansa up, she helped him. She watched as he raped her, she made me watch too.” His body had stilled, along with the others. Even the guards. All eyes were on Theon, “I know that I’m putting her in danger asking you to go in, but please, you have to. What she went through, she’ll be reliving it all over again. The more we wait, the less time it will take for Sansa to take her own life, let alone let anyone take it for her.”

Daenerys hadn’t noticed, but Jorah had, she had begun to cry. Tears were spilling down her cheeks and her sobs were heart wrenching. Jorah pulled her up from the floor and held her against him, she buried her face in his chest as she continued to cry. She was scared. They all were.

“This _woman_ ,” Baelish sneered, “what type of woman is she?”

Theon looked up at the man and furrowed his eyebrows, “she’s fucking crazy. She likes to watch people in pain, she enjoys watching other people watch people in pain.”

With that, Baelish nodded. “Move him, break down the door.”

“What?” Sandor growled at the smaller man.

Guards moved Theon out of the way, and looked towards Baelish, awaiting complete confirmation. Baelish turned to Sandor, but Tyrion took the answer right out of his mouth. “She won’t kill her. She wants us to see Sansa in pain. Theon’s right, the more time we waste, gives Sansa more time to hurt herself or allow whoever she’s with more time to hurt her. We need to get her out now if we want to save her.”

Upon hearing Tyrion’s reason, the guards smashed at the door. The door didn’t move. “Ah fucking hell, move out of my way,” Sandor grumbled angrily. The guards did as he said, and he began kicking and ramming the door.

 

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

“Any minute now,” the woman smiled.

Sansa groaned and held her stomach, she could feel the blood slip through her fingers as she tried to control the bleeding that escaped her stab wound. “Please, I just need something to stop the bleeding,” she moaned painfully. Tears were stinging her eyes as felt the hard floor against her back.

The woman’s head snapped around to face Sansa, “shut up! You’re lucky I haven’t killed you already.” She was standing over Sansa, a wild look in her eyes, with Sansa’s blood covering her hands, and even her face and hair.

Sansa could feel the pain throbbing throughout her stomach, her body shook with the pain and fear. She knew they would get to her soon, they had to. It was her own fault, she never should have introduced them, she should have _remembered_. How did she forget? How could she forgot one of the many faces who scarred her, how could she forget the woman who laughed and clapped at the sight of her pain and blood? No, she wasn’t as bad as Myranda, but now that Myranda had gone, this woman surely had to be the cruellest. Another surge of pain dragged her out of her thoughts as she felt her palm rip and bleed.

She looked down to her blood covered hand and saw as Eva ripped her blade over her palm, spilling more blood, fresh blood, “please stop,” she whimpered. Sansa was getting weak. She had lost a lot of blood and the memories of Eva’s face made her sick and beg for death; Sansa didn’t want to live in a world where she could easily be hurt and haunted by someone she believed to be a friend.

For a moment, a slight moment, Sansa could swear she watched sorrow and guilt warp onto the woman’s features, before the terrifying mask made its way back. “They’re coming,” she smiled wildly at Sansa, as she knelt next to her. Sansa heard the banging against the door once more and knew it would soon be open, open for the world to see what Eva had done to Sansa. Eva stood once more before walking around Sansa and grabbing her shoulders, she ignored Sansa’s wince, and dragged her to the wall, before sitting behind her and having her rest between her legs – almost like she was urging her friend to sleep.

Eva knew she was going to die for what she had done, but she wanted to savour this memory and savour the looks on the faces who loved the red-haired woman in her lap. And so, she sat against the wall, Sansa slowly losing consciousness between her legs, and a knife in hand.

Suddenly, the door broke open. A quick few kicks assured everyone to quickly look and come into the room. Sandor was the first to enter, he looked around the first room, noticing the blood but lack of body. He nodded to the rest behind him and slowly urged his way towards Sansa. Baelish and Tyrion followed suit and bit their tongues at the sight of blood, Sansa’s blood. Guards entered along with them, before finally Varys, Jorah and the Queen. At the sight of her friend’s blood, she steeled her eyes and face, but her left hand grabbed onto Jorah’s forearm. Jorah felt the trembles and shakes, yet he knew she tried to appear brave – she was their Queen.

“In here,” a voice sang.

All feet followed the sound and quickly found themselves staring upon the most heart-wrenching sight. They watched Sansa’s eyes as she tried to force them open, her left hand clutching her stomach harshly, whilst her right hand bloodied and cut, lay beside her. Her skin lacked any type of colour and had paled completely. White as snow; much paler than her usual pale skin. Her beautiful red dress ruined.

“Eva,” Daenerys spoke. Her voice was calm and slow, as if she were trying to tame a wild lion.

Sansa’s eyes flew open at the sound of her friend’s voice. _I’m going to be okay._

Sandor unsheathed his sword and growled at the woman who held Sansa against her. Eva made no movements, nor did she panic. “We were waiting for so long, we thought she were going to bleed out,” she smiled towards the crowd. “I am, however, quite surprised she didn’t recognise me. Poor Theon did.”

Just at the sight of her friends, Sansa could feel the braveness spark amongst her, “clearly you didn’t make a memorable first impression.” Her words were strong but wavered painfully.

Her friends winced at the bravery, knowing the words would have antagonised her, “Sansa, dear, perhaps not the best time?” Baelish smirked fearfully at the bloodied woman.

“No, no,” Eva claimed, waving her hand at the people before her, “she’s right. I wasn’t that much involved really.” Eva looked down to Sansa and pushed the fallen hair away from Sansa’s eyes, “I wasn’t the person who raped her. I merely held her down.”

Baelish angrily tried to step towards the women, before an arm held him back. The Queen’s arm. “You were her friend, for 3 years, she trusted you. _I_ trusted you.” Angry breaths escaped all in the room. All wanted Eva’s head on a damn spike.

“You want to know what I did, your grace?” Eva asked, staring into the eyes of the Queen. The Queen stared back and released her hand from Jorah, she took a step forward glared at the woman. Eva took her silence as a response and spoke once more, softly stroking Sansa’s hair as she shook violently, “I held her down. I tied her up, placed a knife to her throat, just like this,” demonstrating as she did so, “and I watched as he took her. It wasn’t pretty, with all the blood, but it drove me to the person I’ve become. Some of the scars on her body, which I’m sure you’ve seen, I put them there myself.”

“You bitch,” Sandor breathed heavily. His fingers twitched, and his head pounded violently. He wanted nothing more than to pick Sansa up with one hand and behead Eva with the other.

Daenerys’ eyes failed her, just for a second. But Eva saw it. She saw it behind the brave mask. “You haven’t, have you?” She asked with a smile. “You haven’t seen her scars? I know none of her precious boyfriends have, for she would have told me if one of you were to bed her.” Her smile grew wickedly, and she felt Sansa’s breath quicken under her. “Sansa, would you like to show your friends what we did to you?”

Sansa’s heart quickened, and she could feel the cold steel of the knife against her throat push closer. She looked towards the crowd once more, before her eyes fell onto Tyrion. He was distraught. Tears were welling in his eyes, the look of anger splayed viciously upon him. Their eyes met, and she looked at him with a knowing smile, trying ever so desperately to tell him what she knew. Tyrion was the smartest man in the room, though many would disagree, and she pleaded that he realised what she was trying to tell him. His eyes widened in response, as everyone looked at him for a second before looking back to Sansa. A breath of relief left her as she realised he knew. _He knew_. Tyrion took a step back and took a goblet of wine from the table with a shaky hand. He silently, all eyes on him, took a large gulp before meeting Varys’ eyes. He knew too. Sansa, Tyrion and Varys were the only people in the room who knew.

“What?” Eva snapped. She was missing something. Sansa felt the grip on the knife loosen ever so slightly. “What have I missed?” Eva looked down to Sansa before using her free hand to grip Sansa’s hair, she pulled it down and forced Sansa to look at her.

Sansa hissed as her hair was pulled, she locked eyes with Eva and could see the panic on her face. “A lady never tells her handmaiden everything,” she whispered.

Eva snarled at the woman before quickly standing up, pulling Sansa up by the hair with her. Sansa cried out in pain as she stood, she gripped her stomach as she felt more blood escape her wound. Steps were made to come to her aid in shock, but with Eva’s knife back against Sansa’s throat, they stopped. Eva kept her back against the wall as she held Sansa against her, one hand pulling her hair and the other with a shaking knife against her throat. Sansa could feel herself going weak, her knees trembled, and her vision blurred.

“She’s dying,” Theon gasped as he entered the room. Everyone, on their guard, turned to face the mournful man. “Eva, let her go.”

Eva gripped Sansa’s hair tighter, another whimper escaping Sansa’s throat. “I could. I could let her fall right onto my knife.”

Tyrion, not once looking away from Sansa and nor did her eyes fall from his, nodded ever so slightly. It was the perfect chance. A distraction. Eva was staring at Theon, not concentrating on the woman she held.

“Come closer, Theon. I want you to hold her hand and stare into her eyes as the light leaves her body.” Eva urged, her teeth grinding against each other. She snarled once more as he didn’t move. “I’ll cut her into pieces right now if you don’t.”

Theon gulped before slowly walking towards them, he ignored the looks of the Queen and the men surrounding her. Theon, along with the others excluding Eva, watched as Sansa’s injured hand, slowly and carefully, found its way around to the back of her own dress. Theon continued to make his way to the women before Eva froze and her hand stilled. He quickly jumped to the hand and knife against Sansa’s throat and pulled it away. Eva didn’t react, her breathing stopped momentarily as her eyes stared into the light of the room. As everyone ran towards Sansa, they stopped once they saw a knife stabbing into Eva’s side. Theon pulled Sansa towards him and held her against his chest, “you still carry a knife in the back of your dress?” He gasped for air.

“Always,” she breathed.

Theon quickly bent down and picked up her legs, cradling her as her arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. Sandor ran towards Eva and instantly stabbed his sword through the woman, as he enjoyed the light leave her eyes; they all did. Daenerys found herself quickly in front of Theon as he held Sansa, “Sansa, are you alright?”

“Someone find a maester!” Tyrion called out and watched as many guards scrambled to run and find one.

“I knew you would figure it out,” Sansa breathed as Tyrion made his way towards them.

Tyrion nodded and smiled sadly, “of course, my dear.”

“Figure what out?” Theon asked. He felt slightly intimidated as he held Sansa in his arms, surrounded by 5 men and a Queen.

Sansa reached her shaking hand out to touch Theon’s face, “put me down on my bed, Theon. The pain hurts less when I’m lying down.” Theon quickly nodded, as he rushed her out towards the door of her sleeping chambers. Everyone followed and all but Varys and Tyrion eagerly waited to know what Tyrion had figured out.

The men hadn’t been in Sansa’s sleeping chambers before. Though they didn’t have much time to focus on the room before it was latched once more upon Sansa, they noticed the warmth and homeliness feel to it.

“It was the dress,” Tyrion replied as he watched Theon place Sansa on her bed gently.

“Her dress?” Jorah asked with furrowed eyebrows.

Sansa could slowly feel the pain drift away, she could feel her pulse calm. As much as a relief as it was, Sansa knew it wasn’t a good thing. She lifted her uninjured hand and found Theon’s, she held it tightly. “The tightness of my dress. It’s keeping pressure on the wound.” Her voice was weak and all in the room knew it.

Theon fell to his knees beside her and grabbed her hand with both of his, “but if we remove it…”

“She could bleed out,” Varys spoke with a solemn tone. Himself, Jorah and Sandor stood at her right side, whilst the remaining 4 stood at her left.

“No,” Daenerys ordered. Her eyes were hard and full of steel, “I am your Queen and I command you to live.”

Sansa smiled at the Queen and tried to speak but she was too tired to talk. She was too weak. She fought to keep her eyes open and ignored the protests of everyone around her.

“Sansa, please,” Theon sobbed, “you’re all I have left. Everyone else has left me. You’re the only reason I’m alive, Sansa, you can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone.” His cries silenced the room as he begged the girl.

She heard his cries, his pleas. With all the strength she had left, she squeezed his hand and opened her eyes, “you’re not alone, Theon.” The voice was small and barely escaped her throat.

Theon snapped his head up to face her, “please stay with me. I am alone, Sansa, you’re the only one who forgave me. I did nothing for you on your wedding night, and I did nothing for many nights after. I watched and listened, and I did nothing. Yet you still found it in your heart to forgive me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Sansa. Not after everything I’ve put you and your family through.”

“Hey,” Sansa demanded, her voice weak yet still demanding nonetheless, “you listen to me, Theon Greyjoy. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything that has happened. You have been punished enough for what you’ve done. You were in that room with me for many nights, you heard me beg and cry. That isn’t something anyone should have been there for. You have been through so much, Theon, but you are still that person who saved my life. You saved me and took me away from him. So, of course I forgive you.”

He cried more yet silently at her words, he stroked her small hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her fragile hand.

“You’ll look after him, wont you?” Sansa asked, looking towards Daenerys.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she took another step towards the bed, she sat down the edge of the bed and stroked her face. “I won’t have to, you’ll be here to do that,” Daenerys nodded.

Sansa smiled sadly at her silver-haired friend, “I know. But, just in case?”

She forced the lump down her throat and nodded once more, “of course.”

Sansa beckoned Daenerys closer and watched as Theon stood up and out of their way, Daenerys leant closer, so Sansa had the chance to whisper in her ear, “did you tell him?”

“I did,” Daenerys smiled and leant back, looking towards Jorah for a brief moment before looking back to her friend.

“And?” Sansa urged. Everyone knew she was trying to find her perfect, perky voice to assure them that she was okay. But she couldn’t. Her voice was frail and strained, her body was in a lot of pain and everyone knew she was shifting closer to the darkness that slowly welcomed her body.

“Good news, very good news,” a warm smile welcomed her lips and a small sliver of warmth ran through her cold and fearful body.

She closed her eyes once more, just for a second, “I’m so happy for you, Dany.”

Panic rushed through them all once more as she weakened, “and what of you?” Daenerys rushed quickly.

“What of me?” Sansa opened her eyes and tried to examine her friend, she was too tired.

“Have you chosen? Surely you can’t have the four of them trailing around you forever,” Jorah interrupted. He knew Daenerys was close to breaking, he needed to relieve her of that, even if it was for a brief time.

Sansa turned to face Jorah, the men in the room all stilled. She chuckled weakly and smiled at the handsome man, “I suppose your right.”

“Fucking hell,” a voice called out from the doorway. They turned to face him and were all relieved to see the maester; his eyes were wide in shock and his hair matched the redness of his face. He quickly took in the scene and ran to Sansa’s bed, Daenerys gracefully stood and moved to the other side of the bed, alongside Jorah, whilst the rest stood at the foot of the bed. “What happened?” The maester.

“A crazy whore happened, that’s what,” Sandor grumbled.

The maester ignored his comment and looked to Sansa, placing his bag down on the bed, “my lady, what happened?”

“Stab wound in the stomach, a cut on my hand,” she breathed.

He looked down to her stomach and noticed the wound, “how on earth are you alive?” He asked in a panic. He was shocked, completely shocked.

She laughed breathlessly, “men have their armour, women have their tight dresses.”

The maester chuckled quickly, before closely inspecting the wound. With a gulp, he looked up to the people in the room. He looked towards the Queen and bit his lip, he knew the girl in the bed was the Queen’s best friend, “I’m afraid it doesn’t look too good.”

“I will pay your weight in gold if you try,” Baelish rushed.

“And I shall double it if you succeed,” the Queen spoke.

He looked down to the woman on the bed once more, he wanted nothing more than to save the woman, not for the gold but simply to save a life. Not taking his eyes off the woman, “I may need some help.”

“You have 7 perfect hands right here,” Jorah spoke.

“6. I will not allow the Queen to be caught in such a thing,” the maester replied, looking to the man.

“I insist. She is my best friend,” the Queen stood proud and eyed the maester, “I have experience with these types of wounds.”

Sansa groaned in pain and the maester quickly agreed before rushing to the bag on the bed. “I need someone to clean and dress the hand wound, and another to wrap it once it’s done.” He all but threw the needed equipment out of the bag and towards the right side of the bed.  Baelish and Daenerys, as those who had the gentlest touch, took the hand upon their task whilst the rest saw to the wound on her stomach. “Does anywhere else hurt, my lady?” The maester rushed.

Sansa found it too hard to talk, and so Theon interrupted, “her head. She fell and banged her head.”

The maester nodded in response and quickly and carefully placed his hand under her neck and lifted, there were no signs of blood or any damage, leaving a relieved look on his face. He turned back to the major issue at hand and thought for a moment. He looked towards Sandor, “you’re the biggest man in here. You’re strong, yes?” Sandor nodded in reply. “I need you to keep pressure on the wound. Whilst you,” he pointed at Tyrion, “you’re small. Climb up on the bed and cut the dress surrounding the wound. The pressure won’t be as strong, but it may work. You, Lord Varys, I need you to get sharp scissors, a large basin full of water and many, many cloths. Man who told me about the head, where are you? Ah, there you are. I need you to clean the wound as I go, I need the blood away from where I work so I can keep it neat and as safe as possible. No one, and I mean no one, panic if she falls unconscious. It’s not uncommon for those in incredible amounts of pain to lose consciousness for a while. Ser Jorah, I need you as my right man. I need you to pass me anything I ask and as quick as possible, I need you to watch her pupils and to make sure the fall didn’t harm her head. You and I have the most important and careful jobs, I need you to be sure you won’t you’re your eyes off her?”

“I promise to all the Gods,” Jorah nodded and made his way up to the top of the bed.

The maester looked towards the frightened woman before looking towards Baelish who waited eagerly to wrap her injured. “You, Lord Baelish,” Baelish snapped his head up to look at the man in response. The maester took her uninjured hand and moved it towards him, trying not to move her body as he did so. “Hold her hand.” Baelish nodded and sat on the bed, so he was close enough to hold her left hand and help Daenerys work on her right hand, all without moving her body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the attack, things take a turn for the worst.
> 
> Just a quick warning: there's talk of rape and mentions of suicide in this chapter.

Hours had passed since they had finished working on Sansa. Her hand would, painfully yet quickly, heal; her head wound would only cause a simple headache; and her stomach would very slowly, heal. She was going to be fine, _if she woke up_. It wasn’t uncommon for people to wake days or weeks after they were mended, though some never woke at all. Some would lock themselves away in their healing body yet never wake, never to see the sunlight again, only to be locked away behind the darkness of their eyelids and the dreams from their imagination.

The Queen had been urged away on private business, along with Jorah and Sandor. Leaving Varys, Tyrion, Baelish, Theon and the maester to wait for her to rise. The maester had claimed it was safe for him to leave hours previous, but no one allowed him to leave, offering him gold and anything he wanted to ensure he stayed with them until she woke and to make sure she was okay. Baelish, who now sat on a chair on her left-hand side, still held her hand in his. He stared at their hands; hers was so small and fragile, whilst his were tanned and strong. Baelish felt as if he had never had the privilege to feel such a precious thing.

“I never knew you and Lady Stark were involved, Lord Baelish,” the maester spoke softly. He sat on a chair at the foot of the bed and made it apparent he had been watching Baelish stroke and stare at the woman.

Baelish quickly looked up and locked their gaze, “we aren’t.”

Varys, who sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, smirked, “I’m afraid you’ve caught us all at an _unfortunate_ time, Maester…” he trailed off, unknowing of the man’s name.

“Powell,” he stated his name as he turned to look at Varys, “an unfortunate time? Why’s that?”

“They all have feelings for her,” Theon muttered from her right side. His fingers were scratching at his hands, trying to remove the feeling of her blood. He was sitting on a chair and had been praying to the old Gods for hours.

“ _They_?” Powell exclaimed, suddenly very interested.

Theon looked up and around at the men in the room, all staring at him. He rolled his eyes before focusing on Powell, “the three in here and the tall scary one out there.”

“I’m afraid I have to object,” Varys stated calmly.

“As would I,” Baelish replied coolly. There was no way in hell he was admitting his love for _another_ Tully woman.

Tyrion scoffed as he sat next to Theon, “oh please. If anything, I’d say you two have it worse.”

“I’d have to disagree,” Powell replied. He could feel the eyes bore into his own, he felt the redness peak at his skin, “from what I’ve seen tonight, I believe you’re all deeply in love with this woman. And as none of you are willingly able to accept and own up to it, I must believe you’re wasting your chances. She may be your first love, for some of you, and one of you may be hers. Don’t let your pride or fears stand in the way of that. Love is the strongest emotion. It’s something so strong, that it can pull the darkest men into the light.” He looked towards Sansa and smiled. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Stark?”

The men whipped their heads around to Sansa, “most definitely.”

“You’re awake,” Theon breathed and smiled.

Varys and Baelish let out a breath they weren’t aware they were holding and smiled slightly at the woman in the bed. “It would appear so,” she smiled.

Baelish let go of Sansa’s hand and stood up, allowing Powell to move and take his seat to examine her. “May I?” Powell asked, hinting down where the wound lay under the quilt. Sansa looked down and realised she no longer wore her red dress, but a white tunic. She had been surprised to not see a nightgown, but it hardly mattered. She nodded wearily at the man and watched as he lifted the quilt. She had definitely not been wearing a nightgown. Instead of her pale legs welcoming her, there were her legs clothed in breeches. _Gods, would Arya be impressed._ They weren’t the breeches she recognised any of the men wearing, in fact, they reminded her of a woman’s type of clothing. _Daenerys_. “Worry not, my lady, the Queen requested you clothed and covered at all times,” Powell spoke softly, sensing her worried thoughts.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

She watched as Powell gently lifted her tunic and pushed it up to the bottom of her chest, keeping her breasts covered. The wound would scar; it was a vertical wound that sat to the left of her belly-button and just before the turn of her waist. But it was clean and perfectly able to heal. “There’s a risk of infection, of course.” He stated as he examined the wound, “but it seems as if it’ll heal within a reasonable amount of time.”

She smiled at the man before watching his eyes turn cold and stiff. He froze in his spot and Sansa felt a cold rush of air run through her spine. _Shit, shit, shit_. “Maester?” Her voice shook.

“Oh, you poor child,” his voice was small and distant as he continued to stare.

Sansa clenched her jaw and allowed her head to fall back to the pillow, she shut her eyes tightly and felt the maester edge her tunic up ever so slightly, and the slight push of her breeches. Nothing _personal_ would be able to be exposed, but she would have rather had both of her personal places exposed than what the maester had found.

The other men in the room looked at each other before silently standing up and walking over to the right side of the bed. It took them only but a second to realise what the maester had found. How they hadn’t seen it when they were there only hours previous completely bewildered them. Bile rose in their throats and they clenched on the inside of their cheeks and tongues to ensure they didn’t shout or gasp in shock.

There on the right side of her body, all the way from her hip up to just bellow her breast, sat the ugliest scar anyone could have every received. It wasn’t a normal scar, it wasn’t one such as Baelish’s. No, for the scar was written. _YOU’RE MINE._ The words echoed in the back of her mind as she felt the eyes stare into the scar. She remembered every excruciating moment of it. Him taunting the words to her as he dug the knife into her, the knife repeating the words he screamed.

“Who dressed me?” Sansa croaked, still unable to open her eyes.

“The Queen herself, she allowed no one else,” Varys’ voice sounded distant. _She saw, she saw all of them._

Sansa nodded briefly, and she could feel Powell’s fingers leave her skin and pulled the tunic back down and the breeches back to their original place, once again covering the scar. Her eyes flickered open, “can you help me sit?”

“Of course,” Powell whispered and himself and Theon sat her up in a comfortable position. Once she was sat upright, she saw all eyes staring at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I didn’t know,” Theon gulped quietly, he looked down to his hands guiltily and avoided Sansa’s eyes.

“I didn’t want you to. I knew what he was going to do the morning before. I played nice throughout the day and hoped he would have made you wait outside instead. And he did. I didn’t want you to see what he did, I know it would have hurt you.” She spoke softly and quietly, trying to catch Theon’s eyes.

“Hurt _me_? Sansa, I would rather him carve every word of every language onto me than him hurt you.” Theon looked up and blinked away his tears, ignoring how they fell. “Are there more like this?”

Sansa froze. She couldn’t lie to him, not now. She nodded slightly and sighed, “it’s not the worse.”

“There are worse?” Tyrion asked quickly.

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat as she tore her eyes away from the smaller man, refusing to answer. “I remember,” Theon spoke quietly, stealing the attention. “I remember that night. We were in the great hall and you were sitting to his left and had your hand over his. You whispered in his ear and Myranda got jealous; she tried to talk to him, but he dismissed her. He told me that I was not to enter the room but only wait outside and listen. The screams – _your_ screams.” His voice cracked, and tears began to flow once more.

Sansa quickly reached towards him and pulled him onto the bed, pulling him towards her. He rested his head upon her chest as he cried, her wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she stroked his hair. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered repeatedly.

Tyrion moved next to Theon and rubbed his back reassuringly, but not without smiling sadly at Sansa first.

“We’ll leave you,” Varys suggested solemnly, before bowing and looking towards the rest of the men. The standing men nodded and walked towards the door of her room, leaving a sobbing Theon in her arms.

As they reached the door, Sansa felt a rush of panic surge through her body. “Tyrion,” she called, they turned back to face her with confused eyes and furrowed eyebrows, “stay?” She asked quietly.

A small smile reached his lips and he nodded, “of course, my lady.” He walked back towards the bed and took the seat which Baelish had occupied for many hours, he heard the rest of the men walk out of the room and close the door. “Is there anything I could do to help?” Tyrion asked.

“No, just…” She trailed off, unsure of what she wanted. “Just, stay?” She let out a breath as she spoke and could feel tears swirling in her own eyes.

Tyrion smiled and reached forward, resting his hand on hers which stroked Theon’s hair, “always.”

 

“How is she?” Daenerys asked, as herself and Jorah met the 3 men walking away from Sansa’s chambers. She could feel her heart strum nervously in her chest as she watched the solemn looks on the men’s faces. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, your grace. She’s awake and she’ll heal nicely,” Powell smiled, unable to let the smile reach his eyes.

Daenerys wanted to press on the situation, “what happened?”

“There was a scar,” Varys stated slowly.

 _Which one? Which scar did they see?_ “A scar?”

“ _You’re mine_ ,” the maester recalled. A shiver ran over his spine as his mind took him back to the scar.

The two men beside him grimaced and recoiled. Their blood turned cold as they pictured the Bolton bastard carving it into the screaming girl. _Girl¸ she was just a girl_.

She bit the inside of her cheek, “where’s Tyrion and Theon?”

“Theon reacted quite badly to the scar and stayed with Lady Stark, and she requested Tyrion to stay also,” Varys answered, his fingers dancing with each other as his hands remained hidden by his overlapping sleeves.

She nodded her head before looking at the maester, “will she be able to eat tonight?”

“I recommend it,” he nodded, “though she may not have the strength to eat for very long before falling tired, so I recommend she eat in her chambers until she feels strong enough.”

“Thank you. I will see to it that you are payed largely,” Daenerys smiled.

Powell quickly raised his hands in disagreement, “I must deter, your grace. I ask not of gold.”

“Then what do you ask?”

“I ask you to train her. Train Lady Sansa to fight for herself and to ensure that nothing happens to her again. I beg you, your grace, train the woman into a remarkable swordswoman or warrior. I know she’ll deter and claim she’s nothing but a _lady_ , but if that’s what a lady must endure to remain a lady? Surely it means nothing at all,” his eyes remained glued onto hers as everyone stared at him.

Daenerys thought for a moment, unsure of what to say. She stared at the red-haired maester, he was only young and already one of the best maester’s she had the pleasure in meeting. His talent deserved gold, and yet her he stood, in front of a Queen and the Master of Coin, demanding no money but for a young woman to train and fight for herself – _as any woman should do_. “Varys,” she looked over Powell’s shoulder and to Varys who stood behind him, “collect the best fighters in Westeros and explain my desperation.”

Varys bowed, “right away, your grace.” He turned away from them all and walked towards his own chambers.

“Thank you, my Queen,” Powell bowed his head in respect and let out a sigh of relief. Daenerys smiled, and the man was excused. He bid his farewells and claimed he was only a raven away if he were needed, before stalking off in the opposite direction to Varys and left Daenerys with Baelish and Jorah.

Without a word, Baelish bowed to his Queen and excused himself. “Do you think he’s alright?” Daenerys asked Jorah as they watched Baelish walk away.

“No. But he will be. We’ve all been through a shock today,” Jorah said, before turning to face Daenerys, “how are you, my Queen?”

She took a deep breath and turned to meet his eyes, “it was awful. I was so powerless, I couldn’t do anything to save her.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Khaleesi,” he shook his head at the woman, “you helped. You got the truth from the Greyjoy when no one else could, you stood your ground and you remained calm and collected in front of the woman who held your best friend with a knife, you bathed and clothed her, you cared for her. You care for all who live in your kingdom. You are the most powerful woman I have ever met – sometimes I can’t believe your real. This person who walked into the flames as a broken-hearted girl, and who walked back out as a true and rightful Khaleesi, the Mother of Dragons.”

Daenerys held her breath and watched as he spoke, no hint of a lie remained on his face. Everything he said, he truly believed. She was this person to him. He believed in her. “Do you truly believe in me?” She asked with a shaky breath.

Without a blink or a moment’s hesitation, “with all my heart.”

They stared at each other. Blue eyes into purple. Thumping hearts echoing throughout each other. Bodies aching to touch. “I once told you,” her voice wavered as he watched her intently, “to never touch me again. And now I can’t think of anything else I want more.”

That was it – that was all Jorah needed. He took a step forward, one hand against her back and pulled her towards him. He stroked her face and stared deeply into her purple orbs, he could feel her warm breath against his face as they stood with their bodies pushed together, a small space separating his lips from hers. Daenerys knew there stood a large chance they were to be interrupted once again, so she leant up and slowly brushed her lips against his own. She felt him still under her touch before melting under her, kissing her back just as softly.

 

“You kissed him?” Sansa smiled gleefully.

Daenerys held Sansa’s hand strongly and supportively as they walked through the castle, slowly making their way down to the hall for their food. “Yes,” she smiled.

“And?” The pain ripping through her was unbearable. 2 days had passed since she had been injured and yet no pain had subsided. As much as she tried to hide it, all could see how much pain she was in. Purple bags rested below her tired and dull, bloodshot eyes; her smiles were drawn and lasted for only a short amount of time; her red hair landed effortlessly around her waist as she struggled to do anything else with it; her skin as pale as the day they found her.

Warmth filled her veins and danced around her heart, “I never want to kiss another person.”

Sansa squeezed her friend’s hand happily, “I’m so happy for you, Dany.”

As they neared the doors, they stopped walking. The guards went to open the doors before Daenerys told them to stop. “If the pain gets too much, I want you to tell me that you opened a letter this morning which we need to discuss, I’ll dismiss them all and help you back to your room. I hate seeing you in so much pain, Sansa.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” she breathed out a smile as a tear escaped her eyes.

Daenerys reached up and wiped the tear away, “ready?” Sansa nodded, and Daenerys took her hand once more, ignoring the shooting pain in her hand as Sansa reacted to her pain. The guards opened the doors and they made their way into the room.

Those at the table stood and greeted their Queen and Sansa. Theon sat where Varys usually sat, and had a place next to Sansa, and Varys sat at the opposite head of the table to Daenerys. Jorah and Varys walked over to greet the two women and took their hands to walk them to their seats. Varys noticed Sansa’s strong grip immediately, her eyes told him everything he needed to know; she was in a lot of pain and planned to ignore it and hide it from her friends. Sansa shook her head slightly in response, asking him to remain quiet and gripped his hand tighter as he walked her to her seat. The group watched, and tried to ignore, as Sansa winced slightly as she sat down. She nodded her head towards Varys and smiled, she knew she wouldn’t be able to use her voice for a short while as it would destroy her act.

“Theon,” Sansa whispered quickly, the rest of the table not noticing as they pursued their conversations.

Theon looked to her quickly, placing his fork down on his plate, “yes?”

“Get me napkins. Quickly.” She hushed. Her eyes were wide and watched as Theon quickly understood – he had done it too many times over the past two days.

“Sansa, you’re wearing a white tunic,” he muttered in a panic. He could see it. He could see the blood. The blood quickly stained the tunic as she hid it beneath napkins.

He continued to reach for more napkins, his hands moved quickly and silently across the table. The pain came in a quick slash, she gripped Theon’s arm and he let out a quick yelp. He ignored the pain and panicked once he realised there were no napkins left. The blood was coming fast, leaking through the napkins. “Theon,” she panicked under her breath.

In a panic, forgetting where he sat and who he sat with, he stood up and ripped his shirt off and knelt to the floor, quickly holding the shirt against Sansa and where she bled.

“Sansa!” Daenerys cried. The two were going unnoticed until they watched Theon jump up and rip his own shirt from his back.

Everyone stood from the table with wide eyes as they watched Theon lift her off the chair and place her on the floor, “someone give me a fucking shirt!” Theon shouted. Baelish quickly made his way around the table and threw his coat towards Theon, “no, no. I need something to cover her with. I’m ripping this tunic off her.”

“No, you are not!” Sansa shouted, instantly sitting up against the pain.

Theon pushed her back down, “yes I am. I did it yesterday, I’m sure I can do it again!”

She sat up once more against his strength and pushed his bare shoulders back, “I’ve seen what’s between your legs, I will cut it off if I have to, Greyjoy.”

“What the hell is happening?” Tyrion all but shouted. Theon and Sansa then became completely aware of their situation and where they were. Sansa was shouting at Theon, a half-naked man about chopping off his cock, whilst Theon shouted at a blood covered Sansa about ripping her tunic off in front of the Queen and the rest of the council. Everyone was kneeling around Sansa, trying to help with the bleeding yet all stopped when they began talking about their _specific_ areas.

Theon and Sansa glared at each other, though those around could see the pleas and sadness in Sansa’s eyes as Theon’s glare demanded. “They’re going to find out, San,” his tone softened immediately.

“Find out what?” Daenerys demanded. Sansa looked to her left and saw her Queen, eyes glaring. “Find out what, Sansa?”

Sansa sighed sadly and removed Theon’s bloody shirt from hers and watched as the napkins fell too. She nodded at Theon before looking to the rest of her friends, “at this moment in time, we are not friends. You are members of the council and the Queen.”

Theon stared at the group as they narrowed their eyes, “she’s being serious,” Theon demanded, to which they all quickly nodded. Theon let out a quick breath before helping Sansa lay back against the floor, “if you could all take a step back, that would be great.” To which they silently obliged, even the Queen. “I’m sorry, San, I really am.”

She moaned in pain once more and nodded, “just hurry up!”

Theon grabbed the top of the tunic and quickly ripped it down the middle, once he took the sight in, he groaned angrily, “I thought you told me it got better!”

“Well, clearly I lied,” she snapped up at him.

The Queen took a step forward in confusion, “that wasn’t there before. That wasn’t where she was stabbed.” Daenerys was right; the blood was coming from a different wound.

“Sansa, what did you do?” Varys asked quietly.

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to block the questions out. She couldn’t deal with them, not then. “Theon, please,” she whimpered quietly.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Theon assured those around them. “Water, get me water,” he called, not taking his away from the wound. Jorah, who stood closest to the table, grabbed a goblet of water and handed it to Theon. Theon moved the ripped tunic ever so slightly, covering most of her breasts as the middle of her body remained in the open. Blood trailed down her chest in whichever way it could. He quickly spilled the water down her chest wiped it dry with a dry part of his now ruined tunic. Once the blood had been removed slightly, all eyes widened fearfully.

There was a long cut from the bottom of her neck and down through the small gap between her breasts and stopped inches above her belly button.

“I need something to put in her mouth,” Theon stated quickly looking around the crowd.

“What?” Tyrion asked loudly.

“This, is going to hurt like a bitch, she _will_ scream,” his voice was tense and demanding, his eyes dark.

As soon as he finished his sentence, they heard a rip of fabric. All eyes moved to the Queen, who had ripped a part of her dress. She quickly handed the soft fabric to Theon, “will that do?”

Everyone stared at her in shock. Baelish and Sandor had stopped their pacing and their mouth gaped slightly. “Did you just rip your dress?” Sansa asked painfully.

“You’re making me a new one after this,” Daenerys stated before dropping to her knees once more and held Sansa’s hand.

“Thank you, your grace. But I would recommend you don’t hold her hand.” Theon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He dug into a self-made pocket in his breeches and pulled out a vial and wax, along with a bandage.

“Wait,” Baelish rushed to his side, “you’re using _that_ instead of calling for a maester?” Theon nodded, and Baelish felt his heart thump, “yes, my Queen, I support his recommendation.”

“Melt this,” Theon passed the wax to Tyrion and watched as he quickly ran to the nearest candle.

“She has to hold someone’s hand,” Daenerys panicked.

“You, big guy, hold her hand,” Theon pointed towards Sandor. Sandor nodded and knelt beside Sansa, holding out his hand. She smiled and held it, whilst Daenerys let go. “Tyrion, I’m going to need that wax very soon.”

“Almost ready,” Tyrion called back.

Theon looked back down to Sansa and frowned, he leant down and pressed a long kiss on her forehead, before leaning his own against hers, “I’m so sorry.” As a pained whimper escaped her throat, Theon leaned back and watched as Sansa opened her mouth, he balled up the fabric and placed it inside to muffle her screams. He took a deep breath and removed the cap from the vial, “Baelish, your coat, put it under her head and hold her head still.” Baelish quickly nodded and did as he said. “Varys, her legs.” Varys nodded in understanding and pinned her legs down to the floor. He didn’t need to say anything to Jorah who had already assumed as himself and Daenerys held down her remaining arm. Theon nodded and poured the vial over the length of the cut.

As the liquid touched her skin, her cut, she screamed. A lot louder than the first night. At every moment of relief, the liquid touched her once more. Her screams grew louder and louder as she felt the burning tears fall from her clenched shut eyes. Her entire body pulsated violently, but the notion of her being pinned down made it worse – so much worse.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s going to hate me,” Theon panicked as he continued to pour the vial onto her cut.

“Why?” Baelish asked quickly over the muffled scream, he tried to soothe the screaming girl. He ran his fingers through her hair and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Theon looked up with worried eyes and a lump in his throat, “what do you think happened the last time she was pinned down and in pain?”

Eyes fell upon Theon in realisation before falling back down onto Sansa, “she’s going to hate all of us,” Daenerys stated sadly.

“No, she’ll be glad she’s alive,” Sandor grunted. He mused silently at the strength Sansa had, if he hadn’t been expecting it, she may hurt him.

Theon looked at Sandor with sad eyes, “no, she won’t.”

“ _She_ did this?” Baelish asked.

Theon nodded and dropped the last of the vial onto Sansa’s shaking and screaming body, “Tyrion, the wax!” Theon pressed the bandage against the cut, “hold her tighter, this’ll burn and hurt a lot more.” Knuckles bore white as they held the girl down; Tyrion came over and handed Theon the burning and melted wax.

“She is not to be alone. Under no circumstances will Sansa be left alone. Is that clear?” Daenerys ordered angrily.

All nodded adamantly.

“You’re pouring that over her?” Tyrion asked alarmingly, staring at Theon.

Theon didn’t reply. He quickly held the tray of wax over Sansa and dripped it over her and the bandage.

The pain was excruciating. But she didn’t react. She didn’t move. She opened her eyes and breathed through her nose as the pain spread through her body like wildfire.

“I thought you said it’d be worse?” Sandor asked, as he looked at Sansa’s calm demeanour.

Theon paused for a moment and Sansa eyed him, he carefully removed the fabric from her mouth. “If everyone could stop holding me down like a rogue animal, that would be fantastic,” her voice was hoarse and sore. As no one moved and continued to stare at her, she ripped her hand from Sandor’s and grabbed the burning wax from Theon. She quickly poured it over the bandages with a calm hand and steady eyes.

“Sansa, it’s hot, be careful!” Theon cried loudly, trying to take the tray from her.

“Theon,” Daenerys spoke calmly, “let her. Everyone, take your hands off her.” With her order, everyone moved away and watched as Sansa fixed the bandage with the wax herself.

“Sansa?” Tyrion asked quietly. No one knew what to do. She wasn’t in any pain. The liquid from the vial had cured the pain from the cut but the scorching wax caused nothing at all.

Once she had finished, she sat up and wrapped the ripped tunic around her, covering her breasts. Baelish, however, placed his thin undercoat around her shoulders and helped her get into it and laced it up, denying any exposure. He helped her stand up and eyes were once again on hers, waiting for answers.

“Well?” Sandor asked.

Sansa stared at the taller man before huffing and rolling her eyes, she walked towards the table and picked up a candle. She turned back to face her friends and held her hand directly above the flame.

10 seconds – they asked her to stop

20 seconds – they stared

30 seconds – she blinked

40 seconds – she winced

56 seconds – she pulled away.

“I got used to it,” she claimed quietly, putting the candle back on the table.

“Ramsay?” Tyrion asked.

She nodded and turned back to face them. Sansa sighed under their worried glares and knelt to the ground; she pulled up the breeches to reveal her legs. Her scarred legs. They were littered in scars from cuts and darts, but the ones most important were the ones caused by fire. “He burned you,” Daenerys stated quietly. The Queen had seen the burns the day she dressed her after the stabbing, yet her mind never pulled together the obvious conclusion.

Sansa pulled the breeches back into their rightful position and smiled at her friends, “I’m sorry for this evening. I’m very tired and I have some letters to write.” She bowed her head to the Queen and quickly left them in shock as they watched her walk away.

As she left the room, the Queen turned to face the men, “does anyone have an idea as to what we should do?” The Queen was out of her depth, they all were. Sure, they could deal with wars and slowly fixing the financial state of the kingdom – but dealing with a _suicidal_ and very distressed woman who they loved dearly? No clue.

“We should watch her regularly, take shifts if needed. I’m almost certain we can’t all be busy at the same time,” Tyrion scratched his bearded chin, as he thought.

“Yes. We also have the upper hand of the arrival of Brienne of Tarth; she accepted your offer to help train Lady Sansa, though only when her wounds are in good health. Until she’s able to swing a sword or defend herself without the risk of reopening a wound, shifts should made to ensure her safety and well-being,” Varys spoke calmly, trying to collect and order his thoughts.

“Theon,” Daenerys began, turning to face the curly haired man, “how long is left of your stay?”

He thought for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek, “I can stay another week if it’d please you, your grace.”

She smiled, “thank you, Theon. Your kindness will be rewarded greatly.”

With a bow, he politely declined, “the only reward I seek is that of Sansa becoming well once again.”

“I know this may be out of turn,” Varys spoke, taking a step towards Theon, “but in order to help Lady Stark, we need as much information as possible. She’s been with us for a number of years now, yet the only knowledge we have, of what happened, is what is wildly known.”

Theon bit his cheek once more as he looked at Varys, he knew all the people in the room were smart, smarter than him. But _knowledge is power_. He couldn’t help but wonder if he could trust the people around him, if their intentions were true.

“You _can_ trust us,” Daenerys spoke softly, smiling at Theon, sensing his worries.

“Your grace, I don’t doubt your intentions at all,” the man assured the Queen. Yet, the assurance and ever so small _dig_ didn’t go unnoticed.

“No, but you doubt ours,” Baelish perked up. Ever since Eva, his voice had hardly been heard. He didn’t know what to say; every time he tried to speak or even remotely try to plan what Sansa was going to do next, his mind rattled, and the memories of Sansa bleeding out engulfed him. His heart tugged and shattered every time he saw her, or even at the mere mention of her name. The air escaped his lungs and he became powerless, the only thing Baelish could do was hold her hand as she bled and stroke her hair as she screamed in pain.

Theon narrowed his eyes at Baelish, Theon could see the dark bags under his eyes and the worry stretched upon his face, “give me a reason as to why I shouldn’t.”

Baelish tensed his jaw and remained locked in a gaze with Theon. Theon’s eyes were hardened and unwavering, trying to stand his ground. Neither men were ready to pull their eyes away when they heard a cough, “I’m sure you know why you can trust his intentions, along with the rest of the men in this room,” Jorah took a step towards the two men and stood close to Theon’s shoulder, facing his ear and spoke quietly, “let them help her. They wouldn’t do anything to harm or cause her any upset.”

“And what about you,” Theon turned to face the older man, “are you in love with her too?”

Jorah didn’t seem surprised at the question, he had been waiting for Theon to ask him since he arrived. “No,” he replied plainly, “I’m not in love with her.”

Theon narrowed his eyes and scanned his face for any sort of lie, “you’re not lying to me?”

“This man,” Tyrion took a step towards them, “is the last man you should be asking. Mormont isn’t in love with Lady Sansa, we can all swear it.”

Theon looked back up from Tyrion to Jorah and nodded, “I trust you all not to use this in any way to harm her.”

“You have our word,” Jorah nodded.

“I’m only willing to tell you what is _my_ business. Everything that happened to Sansa is personal to her, and no one can force her to talk about what she’s uncomfortable with – but I will tell you what I was there for and what I saw,” Theon took a deep breath. Their eyes were trained on him, staring at him, they listened to every word he spoke with their devoted attention. Theon knew that the words dripping from his tongue were going to alter the minds of the people before him; but he had to tell them, _right_? It was an order from the Queen, _right_? “At first, she screamed and cried – begging him to stop. They, Myranda and Eva, held her down and tied her wrists as Ramsay cut and raped her, forcing me to watch. It was the same for days after the wedding until it wasn’t enough for him, he’d cut her deeper and made those two do it too. He made me hold her down until they were finished, she cried and begged for me to help her. But I couldn’t. I was too scared, I was a coward. After a few weeks, Sansa stopped screaming – he clawed and bit, begging for her to scream but she didn’t, she stared at the walls and ceiling, completely still and silent. Gods, she should have screamed,” Theon’s voice cracked, “she knew, Sansa must have known. She _didn’t_ scream. It drove him mad. He pulled her hair, cut her deeper, he left her to bleed. Ramsay got off on hearing people scream, he loved people fearing him; and Sansa did nothing, she didn’t react to anything, she shut herself off. She didn’t eat or drink for days, her eyes were blank as if she weren’t seeing anything at all.” Silent tears spilled from his tired eyes, his mind echoing as he relieved every painful memory. He didn’t have the courage to look up from the floor, Theon didn’t dare investigate the eyes that stared at him.

“What,” Tyrion began slowly, “pulled her out of it?”

Theon grimaced at the question; he prayed to all the Gods it didn’t come. But there it was, out there in the open. With fearful eyes, Theon looked up to those in front of him. Tears, clenched jaws, strong fists, broken hearts, shattered souls, fear. “You,” Theon nodded towards Baelish.

Silence.

Everyone turned to face Baelish. His eyes were wide and shocked, his breaths uneven as his heart hammered violently. For the first time in a very long time, Petyr Baelish had no absolutely no idea what to do or what to say. Words failed him, his _emotions_ failed him. _Pull yourself together, you fool, this isn’t the time_. “I don’t understand,” his voice shook.

Theon gulped, “Ramsay lied to her. He needed a reaction from her. One morning, he rose before her and asked the guards to pretend they were opening the gates for a rider; he woke Sansa and told her you, Lord Baelish, had arrived to visit. It was small at first, I hardly noticed it, but her eyes cleared just a little. ‘He wanted to make sure you were okay, I believe he truly cares for you,’ he told her, and Sansa broke. I’m sorry, my Lord, but she waited every day for you to come and save her – I know I shouldn’t say it, especially in front of _specific_ men, but I believe she loved you before this.”

Baelish’s heart broke. It shattered into a million pieces, the shards piercing his lungs as they fell. He couldn’t breathe; his mind screamed at him, telling him to go to Sansa and apologise for every mistake he made, every bit of pain he caused, apologise for everything that had happened since the moment he decided to intervene in her life.

Silence echoed throughout the room. No one knew what to say, hearts were cracking and thumping. “She loved him?” Daenerys asked, she tilted her chin and painfully ignored the quiet winces which escaped the four men.

“I can’t tell you for sure, but it seemed like she did. I heard your name, she whispered it every night; I think your name kept her from falling apart entirely. I remember, when we escaped, I asked her if she was going to look for you, but she told me you didn’t want her to find you,” Theon spoke carefully and slowly. He knew his words were shattering hearts, all four of them. But what was he supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen and danger Sansa more?

Baelish closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, he inhaled painfully and clenched his eyes tightly. _No tears_. “Lord Tyrion, might I suggest you take the first shift? Sansa trusts and enjoys your company. Be sure not to leave her side until she’s asleep,” his eyes licked the back of his eyelids as he refused to let his tears fall.

Tyrion looked to the Queen and noted her small nod, “of course.” With shaking legs, he mustered as much energy as he could and strode off towards the door. _Don’t look back, don’t let them see your pain. Pain is weakness. Don’t turn back._ Without turning around, he opened the door and left the room to reach Sansa’s chamber.

In the hall, Sandor’s fingers twitched towards his sword; the urge to kill increasing. _Poor Little Bird, no one helped her – no one came for her. I would have, I would have kill every ugly fucker in Winterfell to take her away. And she could have fucked herself if she thought she had a choice, unlike Blackwater Bay. Fuck Baelish with his stupid fucking ideas, why the fuck did he think it was okay to marry her off to that cunt? He’s lucky he’s dead. Fuck, I need to stab something._ “Your grace,” he bowed his head to the Queen as he excused himself and headed for the door; leaving the remaining four slightly relieved the blood thirsty man had decided to release his anger elsewhere.

“My friend, I can sense your guilt,” Varys spoke quietly to the black-haired man. Varys’ heart ached in his chest, he knew he hadn’t released his feelings out in the public and so he felt he had no reasons to be in pain, but it stung viciously nevertheless.

Baelish’s eyes fell from the closing door and moved to Varys, who stood closely next to him, “I broke her.”

“No, my friend, Ramsay broke the poor child,” Varys spoke harshly, there was no way in hell he was going to let Baelish take the blame for what Ramsay did to Sansa – it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t there. He didn’t rape her. “Look at how strong…” He began before Baelish interrupted.

“- suicidal. She’s suicidal, Varys. It’s been 4 years; one woman from her past made her relive all of it all over again. _She tried to cut her chest open_. She is not _strong_ right now, she’s not okay. And we’re all standing here trying to make excuses for the way she’s acting and how she’s feeling. Sansa is not well. And she shouldn’t be. She was _raped_ , cut, beat, bitten, left for dead. Overall, yes, she is very strong, the strongest woman I have ever met. But right now? She’s far from strong. She’s weak and very close to pushing herself out of her very own moon-door. And she’s there because of me. I set up the marriage, I left her there with him and I didn’t come back to help her.” It wasn’t _Littlefinger_ speaking anymore, nor was it Baelish, it was Petyr. The scared and vulnerable Petyr. His emotions were leaking out of him and, for once, he didn’t care. Petyr wanted to run to Sansa, pick her up in his arms and take her away, far away. “I love her, and I did this to her,” Petyr’s voice broke and tears spilled from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He wanted Sansa. He needed Sansa. “I should never have left her. We should have stayed in the Vale; we were happy there. She was always happier in the snow, it reminded her of her home. I could have kept her _safe_ ,” a whimper escaped his throat.

“Did you know?” Daenerys asked suddenly, ignoring her own fallen tears.

Petyr sadly turned to face her, “did I know?” He questioned.

“What he was like. Did you know what type of monster this _man_ was?” She asked.

He shook his head, “no,” he promised.

Daenerys smiled sadly at the broken-hearted man, “then you cannot place the blame on yourself. You didn’t know what he was like. You took Sansa home, that was all she could have wanted; you wanted to make her happy. And you thought you did, you believed she was safe, no one can fault you for leaving. You did nothing wrong. Neither of you did,” she looked from Petyr to Theon, “you would have risked your own life if you were to act rationally. But you did save her, Theon, you took her away from that _monster_. And, Lord Baelish, you saved her too. No, not physically but mentally. You listened to what Theon said, she thought of you during her darkest nights and loneliest days – in her mind, you were the only reason to hold on to her sanity. Together, you both saved her.”

 

Tyrion knocked on the door, after ordering the guards to let him on behalf of the Queen, and waited anxiously for Sansa to allow him entrance. There was a chance, a high chance, that Sansa either ignored the knock or dismissed him as soon as she saw who it was. A few seconds after he knocked, a sound came from inside. Something had fallen. “My lady?” He asked through the door.

“One moment,” Sansa called back, eerily cheerful.

Tyrion recognised the tone instantly; he sighed and scratched his bearded chin as he waited for Sansa to open the door. He turned to the guard standing next to the door, “once I leave, don’t let anyone in or out.” The guard nodded and huffed in response.

The door quickly opened, revealing Sansa wrapped in a thin silk robe, “My lord, come in.” Her cheeks were red and puffy. _She’d been crying – as well as drinking._

With a nod, Tyrion followed the woman back into the room and closed the door behind him. He hadn’t noticed the room when he had come in a few days previous, but as there were no reason stopping him from looking around this time, he looked. The room was a reasonable size, it spaced a long couch in front of a large fireplace and had two dark red armchairs on either side of the couch. Directly ahead of the door, to the left of the couch and armchairs, were 2 windows leading to the balcony – and to the left of the windows sat Sansa’s desk, and her long mirror. At the back of the room, there were two doors; one leading to her sleeping chambers and the other to her wash room.

“Please, have a seat,” Sansa waved her hand over to the seating arrangement and gracefully sat down on the armchair facing the door.

“Thank you,” Tyrion smiled, he took a seat on a place on the couch close to Sansa.

“Wine?” Asked the young woman, she moved forward slightly to the long table in front of the couch and close to where she sat. A bottle of wine, though already half drunk, and two goblets shared the table along with lit candles and a bowl of fruit. With a nod from Tyrion, Sansa poured herself and Tyrion some wine and handed him his goblet before sitting back and leaning back into her seat. “What can I do for you?” She asked, with a raised eyebrow as she took a sip of her wine.

 _Good wine._ “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Tyrion sipped his wine.

Sansa, not at all surprised, narrowed her eyes at the smaller man suspiciously. She held her goblet over her leg and used her spare, injured, hand to wipe a drip of wine from her bottom lip. Sansa watched as Tyrion gulped and his eyes widened at the sight of her, his pulse quickening as she noticed the slight movement of the vein on the side of his neck. “I’m perfect,” she purred.

 _That you are, my damn lady_. He tore his eyes away from Sansa and looked into his goblet as he took a large gulp, “I’m glad, my lady.”

Amused and quite intoxicated, Sansa chuckled. “How long have you had feelings for me, my lord?”

Tyrion spluttered on his wine in shock. _What the hells am I supposed to say to that?_ He looked back to Sansa as he quickly placed his goblet on the table in front of him. “I think you’ve had plenty to drink for tonight,” trying to brush the question off, ignoring his echoing heart beat fill his eardrums.

Sansa smirked once more, “answer the question, Lord Tyrion.” She took another sip of her wine, eyeing Tyrion as she did so.

Tyrion, still clutching his goblet as it sat on the table, cocked his eyebrow at the younger woman. He sighed and picked his goblet up once more and sat back into the couch, “why is it of any interest, my lady?”

She thought for a moment; her usual ability to think on the spot, slowed by the alcohol, “just making conversation.” Sansa eyed the smaller man, forcing him to keep her gaze.

With a defeated sigh, Tyrion took another sip of the wine, “6 full moons into your stay with us.”

Masking her surprise, she smiled softly, “that was a long time ago.”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Tyrion replied thoughtfully. _Had it really been that long?_

Sansa’s smirk dropped, and she became aware of their situation almost immediately, _he’s had feelings for me for 2 and a half years, yet he never said a word or once tried to act on his feelings_. “You never told me.”

“No,” he looked down to his hands, “I never wanted to put you in such a position.”

“What happened?” She asked, “why during the 6th month?”

A smile graced his lips as he looked up to Sansa once more, his eyes light and happy; Sansa couldn’t help but return the smile. “We were in the Throne Room,” he began nervously, “all of us. There was a boy, no older than 6, and he cried in front of the Queen. No one could make out what he was trying to say, you walked down the steps and held the boy. You calmed him almost instantly, he stared up at you with these large green eyes and hugged you. You were so gentle and kind, your own deep blue eyes staring back at him. Just looking at you kneeling with the boy, it struck me how one of a kind you really are. There’s no one quite like you, Sansa. You can play the game better than most, sometimes I believe you could be better than Littlefinger, and then you surprise us all with your endearing compassion and complete adoration for everyone around you. You have a huge heart and in that moment, I felt mine declare itself for you.”

Tears threatened to fall as Sansa stared at Tyrion in awe; “that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Then I vow to ensure I tell you every day,” Tyrion nodded defiantly.

A blush crept upon her cheeks as they gazed at each other, her heart started beating faster than usual. “I think you were right,” forcing her eyes away and down to her goblet, “I have had more than enough.”

Tyrion smiled as the woman blushed under his gaze, “may we expect you up early tomorrow, the Queen is calling a council meeting?”

Insentiently, Sansa’s uninjured hand found its way resting upon the cut down her chest as she thought, “I shall hope so.”

“I’m glad,” Tyrion’s heart wrenched at the memory of the self-inflicted wound under her hand. As another memory sprung into mind, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Sansa caught the action and narrowed her eyes at the smaller man once more, “what is it?”

“On orders from the Queen, I’m not allowed to leave your side until you’ve fallen asleep,” his eyes scanning everywhere but her.

 _Having a best friend as the Queen doesn’t make your life any easier_ ; she sighed and placed her goblet on the table, “I figured as much. Worry not, my lord, I’m quite tired so you want to have a long while. There’s an armchair in my sleeping chamber where you can sit whilst I prepare.”

Tyrion, though shocked at the calmness radiating from the young woman, nodded. He raised the goblet to his lips and finished the fine liquid, before placing it upon the table and standing up, Sansa following suit. He followed her through the room and into her sleeping chambers as she walked back out and into the wash room. Alone in her sleeping chamber, Tyrion sat in the armchair in the corner of the room and looked around her room. Her walls were painted a dark colour as her satin bed covers matched. Her brown four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, her brown wardrobe to the right of the bed; Tyrion furrowed his eyebrows as he realised a thin coat rested upon her bed. Baelish’s coat. _Was she planning on sleeping with it_? He forced his eyes and mind away from the coat and looked upon the trunk at the foot her bed, 3 candles resting upon it; he watched the dancing flames, screams gracing his memories as he stared, Sansa’s screams.

Soon enough, Sansa returned wearing a white night gown. Her night gown was a lot shorter than the others he had seen, whilst other women wore them gracing their ankles, Sansa’s rested above her knees. She held her robe before resting it over the foot of her bed next to Baelish’s; ignoring the sudden sting in his chest, he watched as Sansa got into her bed and huffed as her head hit the soft pillow. “Goodnight, Tyrion,” she muttered softly.

Fluttering replaced the sting and he smiled, “sleep well, Sansa.” Sansa turned on her side and closed her eyes, _she must be exhausted_ , he thought. Her day had been long and perhaps traumatic, _she doesn’t deserve this – she’s an extraordinarily kind woman, she can’t walk through the castle without being stopped, she knows all their names and constantly graces them with a smile; a true Wardeness of the North._

After a while, Tyrion noticed her even breathing and relaxed posture – _asleep_. He quietly moved off the chair and blew two candles out, leaving one lit upon the trunk. Silently, he moved through the room and then through the door, softly closing it behind him. He walked through the remainder of the dimly lit chamber and let out a sight of relief as he opened the main door, but, before he closed the door fully, Baelish appeared in front of him.

“Wait,” he pleaded softly, referring to Tyrion pulling the door closed.

The guard eyed the dark-haired man as Tyrion spoke, “what are you doing?”

“I need to see her,” Baelish stated quietly, his eyes pleading with Tyrion as the smaller man held the door softly against the latch, yet not allowing it to shut.

Tyrion eyed Baelish, “she’s asleep.”

“I know,” he replied quietly, “just…please?” The smaller man narrowed his gaze and thought, before nodding slightly and pushing the door open for Baelish. The older man let out a sigh of relief and thanked Tyrion with a nod.

 

Baelish stood at the foot of her bed, he watched as her chest rose and fell with every breath, his heart shattered one more time as he thought of what would happen if it ever stopped, if she ever stopped breathing. He tore his eyes away from her sleeping body and they fell to his coat. He had forgotten he had given it to her and his heart tugged as he realised she kept it close.

“You’re not taking it back just yet,” her soft voice pierced the air. Baelish jumped at the sudden noise, his eyes smacking onto the woman in the bed. Her eyes locked onto his, piercing his very soul.

“I wasn’t thinking of it,” he replied breathlessly. Sansa’s eyes remained on his and cocked her eyebrow, “Tyrion said you had fallen asleep.”

She, finally, pulled her eyes away from him as she closed them once more, “it’s not hard to pretend you’re asleep once you’re used to people watching you.”

His stomach welcomed a punch from the guilt eating at him, “of course, my apologies.”

Sansa knew instantly something was wrong, his voice told her all. Something was bothering him, eating away at him. “What’s wrong?” She asked, looking at him once more.

“Nothing, my lady,” he nodded, squirming subtly under her suspicious gaze.

With a sigh, she sat up, “Lord Baelish, I know you. What’s bothering you?” She pulled her knees up to her chest under the duvet as she continued to watch him.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, within those few seconds, he knew there was no possible way he’d be able to leave the room without telling her. He looked down to his hands and then back up to her, meeting her gaze once more. “I’m responsible for what happened, and I can’t shake the feeling that you’re not going to wake every following morning.”

Sansa’ eyes immediately softened, “this isn’t your fault.”

“It is, Sansa. I should never have made you marry him,” he rubbed his face in frustration.

“You didn’t,” Sansa began, pulling Baelish’s attention immediately back to her, “you gave me the choice, remember? On that hill, you told me you would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I took the choice and married him, you didn’t make me do anything. You wanted me to win my home back, you didn’t know what would have happened if I married him.”

“But you were there because of me,” the sound of his voice decreasing to just above a whisper, “I should have kept you with me at the Vale. Nothing would have happened there, no one would have been able to harm you – I could’ve prevented it all.

Sansa thought for a long moment, her eyes examining the older man. His fingers subconsciously ran through the grey streaks on either side of his head as he fearfully awaited her response. “I believed you that day,” Sansa spoke strongly and defiantly, not allowing Baelish to waver her thoughts.

Taken aback, Baelish furrowed his eyebrows, “what day?” He asked.

“That day I met you with Brienne, after I escaped. I believed you when you told me you had no idea about what the type of person Ramsay was. I believed you then and I still believe you now. If you knew…” Baelish quickly interrupted her.

“– if I knew, I never would have suggested you marry. I would’ve helped you get your home back another way,” he stood adamant.

“I know,” Sansa smiled, “and that’s why you can’t blame yourself. I know you wouldn’t have allowed me to go, you would never have mentioned it; and that’s exactly why I know it’s not your fault and why I don’t blame you.”

Baelish stared at Sansa, his lungs were suffocating him once more, “you don’t blame me?”

“Of course not!” Sansa exclaimed, her arms hugging her knees tightly, “I don’t blame anyone other than Ramsay himself. And he’s dead.” Her voice became distant and cold, as she stared at the dark bed covers. Baelish wanted to speak, but Sansa’s eyes told him not to. She hadn’t finished. “How didn’t I recognise her?”

“Eva?” Baelish asked, his clever mind running into gear as he tried to work out what she was thinking and why.

Sansa nodded, still staring at the dark covers, “yes. I didn’t recognise the woman who helped rape me. During the past 3 years, her face never haunted me – but now it’s the only thing I can see when I close my eyes. Previously, it was always him, Ramsay, but now it’s just her. Tell me, Lord Baelish, how didn’t I recognise her?”

The older man stared at the woman in front of him, her eyes and voice were distant, her body stiff and fearful, her mind haunted. “I don’t know, my dear. I’m afraid I’m not smart enough to figure this one out for you. Perhaps the memories were too much to bare, so you pushed them out, allowing yourself to remember what you wanted to remember?”

Sansa looked up to the man and her eyes softened, _maybe_. She smiled slightly at his answer, “Lord Baelish?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Will you stay?” Her large blue orbs stared into his own green eyes. Her eyes entranced him, forcing him to do whatever she wished of him; only to make the thumping in his chest stop and the fluttering of emotions flee.

Petyr smiled softly, “of course, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Petyr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! :)  
> Who do you want Sansa to fall for?   
> X


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it's taken for me to finally add something else!

Sansa woke up to an empty room, to which she was partly glad about; Baelish must have left sometime after she had fallen asleep. Sansa sat up in bed and carefully stretched, pulling her arms up above her head, as a small moan escaped her throat. She pulled the blanket back and got out of her bed, she walked to the foot of her bed to pick up her robe when she noticed something strange. It had gone. Baelish’s coat remained, but her robe wasn’t there. With a crooked eyebrow, Sansa glanced around her room in search, but it wasn’t anywhere in her room, _Baelish must have picked up my robe instead of his coat when he left_. She ran her hand through her messy hair and sighed, she knew it was going to take a while to exchange their clothing as they would have to do it in private, and under the Queen’s new rules, privacy was something she’d be very lucky to be granted. She picked up the coat and moved it to her wardrobe, she plucked a red robe off a hanger and replaced it with the coat; Sansa slipped the robe on and tied it loosely around her, _I quite liked my robe, I hope I get it back soon._

Sansa, freshly washed, walked into her main room and sat on the couch with a book in hand. She still had a few hours before she had to get ready for the small council meeting, and before she would be bombarded with guards and _one of the four_. She lounged on the couch and began to read, the book had been a gift from Jon on her 20 th name-day, just over a year ago. Sansa had always loved her name-days but as she got older, the word “ _marry_ ” would find itself into nearly every conversation she had with anyone outside of her friends and family. As Sansa continued to read, she scoffed at the love declaration between the knight and princess; _younger Sansa would have loved this book_ , she thought. A memory quickly found its way into Sansa’s mind, removing the air from her lungs. Tyrion. He _declared_ his love. She closed the book and sat up, _he told me he loved me – in his own weird way_. A smile graced her lips and she immediately wanted to wipe it off, _he’ll get over it, they all do_. _It may be love now, but in a few months, it’ll mean absolutely nothing. He’ll get over it and decide to court another; he deserves another. He’s too good. He’s kind and gentle, I’d break him. I’d ruin him – I’d ruin them all_. Sansa sighed and thought of them all – all four of them. All but Varys had somewhat declared their love for her; Baelish in Winterfell before she asked him to leave, Sandor and his letter, and Tyrion with his story. A bitter taste then entered her mouth; out the four, she had mainly paid attention to only Tyrion and Baelish. Of course, she acknowledged and spoke to Sandor and Varys, but it was always mainly the other two. Sandor was in love with her and Varys had _feelings_ , yet she hardly noticed them. Neither of them deserved that. Sandor had protected her, in his own way, since the moment they met; he came _back_ to King’s Landing for her. Varys had information for her whenever she needed it, he told her everything she needed or wanted to know, Varys protected her in his own way too.

The red-haired woman stood, with her book, and walked to her sleeping chambers. She pushed the door open and walked to her bookshelf, which sat on the left side to her bed. The shelves were full of books; gifts and those she bought herself. Sansa put Jon’s book back into its place and her fingers then began to skim over the other books, until her fingers landed on a large red book. She pulled the book from the shelf and moved back to sit on the edge of her bed, she slowly opened the old book and ran her fingers over the first few words on the page. If King’s Landing were under attack and she had to retreat to her chambers to retrieve only one item, it would be that book. The book had been the one her mother used to read to her when she was a child, it had also been one of the few things salvaged from the fire and attack at Winterfell. Arya had forced Sansa to take it the day she left for King’s Landing: _“this way you can still have something from home, from mother – even if you’re not here anymore.”_ Sansa treasured the book and would guard it with her life. She gently flipped through the pages until she reached the middle of the book; between the two middle pages sat a folded piece of parchment. She carefully plucked it out and placed the book beside her on the bed, solely focusing on the small parchment in her hands; it was just as neat as the day it was handed to her. With careful fingers, she opened it up and her eyes began to scan over the words, a smile gracing her lips.

_Little Bird,_

_I’m not very good with words, especially after a few ales. But when I’m with you or when I think of you, all knowledge of words seizes to exist. You do something to me, Little Bird, and I can’t make it stop. I think about you when I eat, when I fight and even when I piss. I can’t breathe without your face or voice coming into my fucking mind. You’re younger than me and a real lady, but nothing seems to get my thoughts away from you. Damn you, girl. Damn your face and your voice, damn your body and your hair. Damn everything about you._

_I’d walk into a burning forest for you, Little Bird. You want to know why? Because I want you. I want to take you in every room in this fucking castle. I want to make you mine and tell everyone how I’ve fallen deeply and hopelessly in love with Sansa fucking Stark._

_I’d do anything for you and I’m sure you know that. Give me word and I’ll kill every ugly fucker you want me to._

_Clegane._

Sansa fell back onto the bed with a sigh, her hands clutching the letter to her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to force her heart to calm down.

“What’s that?” A voice spoke from the doorway. Sansa painfully jumped to her feet and turned to face the voice.

With a sigh of relief, Sansa smiled and bowed her head, “my Queen.” She held the letter out the silver-haired woman, “it’s a letter.”

Daenerys moved from the doorway and into the room, walking gracefully towards Sansa, “a letter?”

“ _The_ letter,” Sansa looked down to the letter in her hand before looking back up to the Queen who now stood in front of her.

She smiled and raised her eyebrows, “ah, _that_ letter.” The Queen took the letter gently and her eyes scanned over the drunken words, “I think if his enemies got hold of this letter, they wouldn’t fear him as much as they do now.”

Both women laughed, and Sansa agreed as Daenerys offered the letter back to her, “I don’t know what to do.” Sansa’s voice quietened as she slid the letter back into the middle of the book.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys asked, watching as Sansa slowly put the book back into its rightful place on the bookshelf.

Sansa turned back to her friend and sighed, “Varys makes it easier. He doesn’t leave his coat with me to sleep with, he doesn’t tell me the story of how he realised he had fallen in love with me, and he doesn’t write me drunken love letters.”

Daenerys thought for a moment before sitting on the edge of Sansa’s bed, her hand patted a space next to her and waited for Sansa to sit beside her. “Maybe,” she began, “Varys would be the easier option.”

The red-haired woman turned to face the Queen and raised her eyebrows, “do you think I should pursue Varys?”

“He definitely would be the easier option right now – but when have you ever take the easier option? If he wants you, he should fight for your affection. Make him fight for you, make them all fight for you. You’re a woman, you’re the one in control.” Both women held eye contact for a while, a smile upon both faces.

“Aren’t I supposed to be giving _you_ advice, my Queen?” Sansa smiled gratefully.

“I may be the Queen and you may be one of my advisors; but you are also my friend and I help my friends,” Daenerys smiled and moved her hand to rest over Sansa’s.

Sansa turned her hand over and held her friend’s hand in hers, “thank you,” Sansa’s eyes moved from the Queen’s and fell to the floor, shame quickly punching herself in the gut, “for everything.”

Daenerys wanted to grab Sansa’s face and tell her that the scars weren’t something to be ashamed of – they were the things that made Sansa. They helped her grow into the safe and powerful woman she had become. They were a part of her. However, the Queen knew Sansa wouldn’t believe her. So, she did the only thing that she could think of. “How do you feel about wearing a dress? I’m sure you miss it.”

Sansa’s eyes quickly latched onto the Queen’s and held her hand tightly, “oh, I miss it very much.” They both smiled and stood, making their way to Sana’s wardrobe.

“I spoke to the Maester and he recommended not to wear any dresses that would be too tight to cause discomfort or pain,” the Queen stated. Sansa nodded in response and pulled a few dresses from their hangers, she handed some to the Queen and they carried them to the bed before setting them down and inspecting each dress.

After many minutes of trying to choose a dress, they both finally decided on a long, blue dress. The dress was simple and a light blue colour, the colour closely resembled the colour of Sansa’s icy blue eyes. The dress was tight enough to show the shape of her body but wasn’t tight enough to cause any pain. The dress covered her chest and a small amount of her neck, keeping her cut completely covered, her arms were also covered with the soft and elegant fabric.

Sansa couldn’t wear a corset, which made it easier to wear the dress. The Queen laced up the dress for Sansa and then began to help her with her hair. She had worn her hair down ever since the stabbing, unable to trust anyone to help her and unable to stretch her arms above her head without causing herself any pain. Her hair had grown very long in the past few years, only cutting it ever so slightly a few months at a time, her red hair balanced just above her backside. Daenerys braided a few daisies into Sansa’s red hair, the colours matching beautifully.

The two women spoke happily as they readied Sansa, they spoke of Jorah and Tyrion’s proclamation of love, they spoke as if nothing had ever happened. Sansa had winced in pain only a handful of times and the image of Eva’s face only entered her mind twice. Being with her friend completely distracted her, it distracted the both of them – for a small moment, they were just Daenerys and Sansa.

“Are you ready?” Daenerys asked eventually, putting the hairbrush down onto the desk and looking at Sansa in the mirror. Her eyes grew distant and it worried the Queen, “what’s wrong?”

Sansa met her eyes in the mirror and she smiled, easing the Queen ever so slightly, “you helped me. Talking with you…I forgot about it all. The pain’s gone away.”

Daenerys smiled widely and squeezed Sansa’s shoulders, “I’m very glad.”

“I’m ready,” Sansa smiled and nodded her head adamantly.

 

Sansa took a few deep breaths as she stood before the doors. The Queen had gone in a few moments before, but Sansa felt as if she needed a little while to catch her breath and calm herself before walking in. Sansa knew she could take a moment as she wasn’t the last to arrive; Varys had still yet to make his appearance. She took another deep breath and was about to nod her head at the guards to open the doors, before a voice stopped her, “it’s nice to see you, my lady.”

Sansa turned and smiled as Varys approached, “Lord Varys, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Shall we?” Varys stood next to her and offered his hand, somewhat sensing her fears and nerves. With a smile, Sansa took the offered hand and watched as the guards opened the doors for them. Varys ignored the feel of her thumping pulse in his hand as they walked through the threshold and into the room where the meeting was held. All eyes from the table looked to them and Varys could feel her pulse quicken, “how’s the pain?” Varys asked quietly as they walked.

“It’s better, thank you,” she squeezed Varys’ hand in another form of _thank you_ , as she knew he was trying to calm her nerves.

“Good, that’s good,” he returned the smile, “Theon is planning to increase his time here – if you haven’t heard already.”

Sansa had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at Theon’s plan, “no I haven’t heard. And whose idea was it to plant that idea in his head?” She smiled teasingly at the older man.

Varys chuckled softly, “all his own idea, my lady.”

They smiled warmly at each other as they reached the table, their hands left the other’s grasp as they addressed the Queen and the other people around the table. Sansa’s eyes fell onto Baelish – he was wearing a new undercoat with a smirk upon his lips, _wait, did he mean to leave his other undercoat with me? If so, where’s my robe?_ His Littlefinger mask splattered upon his face once more, _good_ , she thought. Sansa knew she would’ve cracked under _Petyr’s_ gaze if she was caught under it like the night previous.

They both sat down at the table and the Queen nodded, beginning the meeting. “There’s a new uprising in the city; a masked group are killing young women,” her voice was cold and harsh.

Sansa could feel the blood freeze in her veins, “how many have been killed?”

“21,” Tyrion replied.

“21?” Baelish asked with wide eyes.

“Yes. We need to put a stop to it,” the Queen eyed her council adamantly. “A masked killer left a blade, Valyerian steel – gold handle with an unknown sigil.”

“A house wanting to gain power and popularity through fear,” Jorah thought out loud as he leant back in his chair.

Sansa nodded, “Valyerian steel; the blade would’ve taken months to finish.” Tyrion unsheathed the blade and presented it to Sansa over the table, she took it in her hands and inspected the sword in awe. “This blade…it must have been forged by a _very_ skilled blacksmith.” Sansa handed the blade to Varys and watched as he also inspected the weapon.

“I agree, my Queen. With such skill, this blacksmith won’t take very long to find,” Varys handed the blade back over the table to Tyrion.

Daenerys nodded, “then we shall find him and question him to find who asked him to conjure such a blade. I need to protect my people – I can’t have masked figure running around and killing innocent women right under my nose.”

“We shall get to work straight away, my Queen,” Varys spoke calmly, as the rest of the council nodded at their Queen in agreement.

The Queen smiled at her council and nodded slowly before her eyes fell onto her red-haired friend, “Sansa?”

Heads turned to face Sansa as she tilted her head ever so slightly in confusion, “yes, your grace?”

“What are your plans for today?” She asked, leaning back ever so slightly in her chair.

Sansa felt a rush of relief, but her confusion increased, “I’m not entirely sure, I haven’t thought about it.”

“I must suggest a walk around the gardens – the flowers are rather beautiful,” Daenerys smiled.

Sansa had started to sense the hint of where Daenerys was taking the conversation and she couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement run through her, “thank you, your grace.”

“I know you’ll try to protest if I suggest a guard, so I will give you the option of whoever you wish to accompany you,” the Queen nodded. Daenerys was using her own new rule to pursue Sansa’s agenda; to make the men squirm and prove themselves worthy for Sansa.

Sansa wanted to twitch, she wanted to look around the table and look at their pleading eyes, to see who wanted to be with her the most. “Thank you, my Queen.” Sansa bowed her head at Daenerys before turning to face Varys, “Lord Varys, would you be able to accompany me?”

Varys’ eyes widened in shock and surprise; he wasn’t expecting Sansa to ask him – in fact, he was the last person in mind that he thought she would ask. All around the table thought so too, and easily matched Varys’ confusion. “Of course, my lady. I’d be honoured,” Varys smiled and slightly bowed his head at the red-haired woman.

“Excellent,” the Queen exclaimed happily, pulling all the attention back onto her, “if anyone hears anything about the masked killers or finds anything out, do not hesitate to find and tell me immediately.”

 

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Varys asked Sansa, his voice calm and soft. They walked through the gardens at a slow pace, soaking up the warm sun and smells of the flowers. The Queen was right, they both admitted as the gardens looked spectacularly beautiful. Flowers of all types and colours were flooding the gardens, each one with their own enchanting smell.

Sansa’s eyes remained on the flowers around her as they walked, “honestly, I’m not sure. I feel so alone yet so crowded.”

Varys turned his head slightly to his left to look at Sansa, he admired her beauty under the sun and surrounded by red roses. “I’m sorry, my lady. There will be a day where you will begin to feel like yourself once more. I can swear it.”

Sansa’s heart thrummed in her chest slightly and she stopped walking, causing Varys to also stop. They turned to face each other and Sansa’s eyes locked onto his own. Varys could feel his heart strumming in his chest as her eyes locked onto his. His breath caught in his chest and his mouth became dry as the words tumbled out of Sansa’s mouth, “can you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Varys gulped.

Without removing her eyes from their place, Sansa could feel a shiver run down her back and her arms, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck all stood up. She eventually broke the silence with a whisper: “we’re being watched, don’t move.”

Ignoring the shatter and realisation from his chest, Varys’ eyes hardened, “are you sure?”

With a wide and fake smile, Sansa nodded and spoke very quietly, “very sure. I know the feeling of being watched.”

Varys couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips as he looked at Sansa. Her blue eyes matched her dress and the entirety of the bright sky. Her hair matched the roaring sun behind her, and her lips matched the rose bush that sat next to them. She was beautiful, and Varys locked the image of her in that moment in his mind forever. With a racing heart, he bent down and picked one of the roses from the bush. He held it up to her and whispered, “where are they?”

Sansa smiled gracefully and took the rose, “thank you.” With a step, she leant forward and pressed her lips against Varys’ cheek, “behind you,” she whispered.  The older man felt his whole body fill with sparks once her lips touched his cheek, his heart drummed against his chest – trying to escape and throw itself right into Sansa’s chest. His heart belonged entirely to her.

As Sansa took a step back, a twig snapped from a bush behind Varys, “shit,” a voice followed. Varys clenched his jaw, but his eyes softened once he saw Sansa roll her eyes and shake her head.

“Theon Greyjoy, get out of that bush right now.” Her voice was stern, and the tip of her ears reddened in anger.

Varys moved from his place and stood next to Sansa; not only to allow Theon to move from the bushes, but to also avoid Sansa’s glare from being aimed at him. With more cursing and crude language, Theon emerged from the bush with a guilty smile, “hey, San.”

Sansa crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her eyebrow at Theon, “who were you spying on us for?”

Theon gulped and avoided Sansa’s eyes, he rubbed the back of his neck and his nose twitched under the pressure, “no one,” he spat quickly.

Sansa’s eyes hardened even more, and she clenched her jaw, “who?” She asked once more.

Theon heard the coldness in her voice and decided against all his morals, “love you, Sans.” He quickly darted away from the two and jogged through the gardens.

Sansa stared after Theon with her mouth gaped in shock, she shook her head and tutted. “I think we both know who he was watching us for, my lady.” Varys spoke quietly, trying to avoid angering her even more. With sad eyes, Varys looked down to the rose in Sansa’s hand, he sighed, and realisation hit him in the chest.

The woman tore her eyes away from Theon’s jogging figure and turned back to face Varys; the realisation and sadness still set in his eyes, Sansa didn’t need to hear anymore to realise it either. She gulped, and the anger seeped away almost instantly, “yes, well, I’ll sort it later. But I’d rather go back to enjoying our walk.”

Varys’ eyes brightened ever so slightly, yet sadness still remained. He offered her his arm, to which she took, and they began their walk once more.

As they walked, their conversations were very limited compared to before the disruption from Theon. Sansa and Varys isolated themselves into their own thoughts, their thoughts uncoincidentally linked. Once they reached the entrance to the Red Keep, Sansa turned to the older man, “thank you for keeping me company, Lord Varys.”

With a small smile, Varys nodded. He knew where she was going to go after they parted, yet he couldn’t do anything to stop it. “It was my pleasure, my lady. Thank you for asking me to accompany you.”

Sansa saw the sadness in his eyes once more before she sighed, “I know of everyone else – everyone but you. You’ve never made it clear. The others aren’t good at keeping it a secret; but you are. I must know, Lord Varys, do you?”

His voice and face remained still and calm, “do I what, my lady?”

“Do you love me?” She asked plainly. Her head had started to ache and being straight to the point was what she needed; no more dancing around.

Varys knew the question was coming, he had suspected for a while that her patience was running thin. With a deep breath, he sighed. “Yes,” he bowed his head, “I do love you. I’ve never admitted it aloud to anyone, not even myself. But you – I can’t lie to you, Sansa. I have never loved anyone but you. You are the light of my life, my dear. But I could never give you what you need or want. I cannot give you children, I cannot please you in a way other men could. I can’t tell you all my secrets or tell you all I know for they are my burdens to bear alone. I am not the one for you. I wish I was – to even imagine you feeling the same way, it makes my whole week better. But you deserve someone who can give you everything and that isn’t me.”

Sansa stared back at the calm man in shock. He had confessed his love to her, yet he remained completely still and calm; as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Confusion erupted throughout Sansa, for she didn’t know what to think. Why was her heart beating so quickly? Why did this happen every time one of the four confessed their love to her? Did she love them all? “What if I didn’t care about those things?” Sansa asked, masking her panic with a lift of her chin.

Varys sighed sadly, “we both know you do. I would give all of my belongings and all of my money to buy those things for you, but I can’t. You don’t love me, Lady Stark, I wish you did but you don’t. I value you and I value our friendship too much to believe that you do or that you could.” His eyes were sad and wide.

Sansa stared into his sad eyes and felt a punch of guilt, she felt awful. Realisation dawned upon her; she knew they were in love with her, but that wasn’t the only emotion they were feeling. They were hurt, they all loved her and she didn’t love them back. Sansa wanted to fall to her knees and beg for Varys’ forgiveness, for all of their forgiveness. But she couldn’t. She knew it would make it worse. So instead, she pushed the lump down in her throat and bowed her head, “my lord,” she said in a manner of excusing herself. She avoided further eye contact before walking into the Red Keep. _Keep walking, walk away. Don’t cry. Just carry on walking away_. Her thoughts blocking out Varys calling after her, telling her that she wasn’t to be alone. Sansa could feel the tears burning the back of her eyelids, she just wanted to cry. Her head was swarming with thoughts and ideas; her vision was completely focused on her mind’s eye. Her legs were carrying her to wherever they wanted to go as Sansa focused on her thoughts. Anger was rising up inside of her as she thought of Theon spying on her and Varys, her heart ached as she thought of the pain in Varys’ eyes, the way Sandor’s hand shook when she was near, the way Tyrion gulped under her gaze, the way Baelish would sit with her all night until she slept, the way they all loved her.

Sansa’s focus suddenly moved to where she was stood. She had stopped walking and was in front of a door. She knew instantly where the door led to and why her subconscious led her there; anger rose in her once more. With a clenched jaw, she raised her clenched fist and knocked heavily.

“Come in,” the voice from inside the room spoke.


End file.
